


One Half Moon

by LuciferianRising



Category: Castlevania (TV), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: (soon), Angst, Blood Drinking, Character Development, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Getting to Know Each Other, I am so sorry friends, Internal Conflict, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Pining, Team Bonding, Trevor is an asshole but he's trying (tm), Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-20 08:43:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11917281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferianRising/pseuds/LuciferianRising
Summary: Alucard is an enigma, an amalgamation of humanity's emotional frailties and all the monstrous qualities of a creature of the night. Trevor is... confused, to say the least. Sypha is just weary of the whole thing.





	1. Sympathy for the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I recently got into the Castlevania series because of the Netflix show. After that, I kind of-sort of threw myself into the games (which I'd seen before, but never took an interest in) with such a crazy passion that I accidentally spent an entire weekend on Symphony of the Night alone, and a day on Castlevania III: Dracula's Curse (I wanted to completely understand the source material for the show!). So, of course, the urge to write fanfiction cropped up, and I, weak as ever to my own whims, gave in. 
> 
> **My plan for this is to be a two-part story.** My track record of writing longfics is horrible, so I'm sticking with something safe. Also, writing Alucard is fun, but writing Trevor is a tad bit hard for me. I'd appreciate any and all criticism or comments!

The nights aren't terribly cold, but they allow a certain sort of chill to settle into Trevor’s bones; one that often has him staring into the dying embers of their campfire for far longer than he should. Dawn lingers not far away, but besides the chill, Trevor’s been finding it increasingly harder to fall into the luring black of sleep.

Perhaps it was the absence of warm drink in the evening, which always served as the fuzzy buffer that more often than not had him snoring away in a hay pile somewhere. Or, perhaps it was the half blood vampire whose eyes seemed to never shift from their resting spot on the empty, dark horizon. True, Trevor was feeling a bit antsy in his company, the same way a hunter feels antsy upon waking up to see a bear nosing through his food. A good analogy, he thinks.

Sypha lies to his side, wrapped in a thick cocoon of her Speaker’s robes and Trevor’s own cloak, her voice stirring up the thick silence with bouts of sleep leaden sighs and barely there grumbles that don't mean much in her current state. These days, her face remains fixed into a concentrated expression, the area between her eyes scrunched together, even in her state of sleep. Trevor wishes he could smooth those lines out with his finger, but knows better than to try.

Alongside being ambitious, she is also prideful, almost to a frightening degree. A lioness hidden under the facade of a young and beautiful woman. Truly, the kind of woman Trevor may have even entertained the idea of a relationship with, given their few similar natures. But short-lived attractions hold no place in Wallachia now. Not with the promise of death hanging over their heads and the Nighthorde  being the thing holding the guillotine.

Not with a dhampir sitting opposite from Sypha, still as a statue, with not even the hint of his chest rising and falling. Trevor swears that at times, Alucard is more akin to a marble sculpture than a person; a marvel of art and beauty that seems like it belongs in the gold-laden halls of a noble family’s manor than some dark clearing out in the forest. And yet, here they are, unlikely trio as they are, finding an uncomfortable and heavily awkward footing amongst each other.

Trevor especially.

The first days saw his hand glued to his consecrated whip, waiting almost impatiently for Alucard to stumble and give him a valid reason to lash out. A life's worth of instinct is a hefty thing to try and erase, let alone suppress to any certain degree. Belmont's were bred with the explicit task of slaying all manner of monsters. Especially vampires.

Alucard was an anomaly though, a strange conception of human and beast. What little words he chose to speak were measured, polite… amiable. No edge of unbridled fury or manipulation poisoned his tone. His eyes never lingered on Trevor nor Sypha. He moved at a measurable pace, even if his steps possessed an unearthly grace to them. He never made fuss about anything, though Trevor certainly did. And when blood was spilled, especially in regards to man, there was never a hiccup to his demeanor, just a slight covering of his face, as he excused himself to allow everyone else to recover.

His thirst went unnoticed, if he even had one, but Trevor suspects that the solitary trips out into the woods at dusk say otherwise. Still, Trevor knows enough from his family bestiary that human blood is the most potent balm for a vampire’s thirst, and animal blood can only serve as a weak substitute for a short while.  

Not so sure about dhampirs, though. That's certainly a new one.

Still, if Alucard does suffer the shortcomings of an incomplete diet, he shows no signs of it. Trevor isn't sure which thought is more troubling: that their potential ally may be weaker than he should be, or that the only way to fix said problem is to give him the actual treat. He certainly knows one thing, and that is that he'll never let Alucard lay a finger on Sypha. He'd rather gut himself than let his teeth meet her neck.

Same for anyone, really. What kind of Belmont would he be to let a creature of the night leech off of human life? Even if the cause is a noble one, it stills leaves a sickening taste in his mouth at the thought of it.

Truly a conflicting dilemma, he thinks. They need Alucard, as loathe as he is to admit it. A starving Alucard? That's a burden more than a solution.

Trevor takes a moment to peek at his right side, where Alucard remains leaned up against the mossy side of a fallen tree. The dhampir’s arms rest over the dewy log, his hands placed elegantly over each other as his gaze remains unmoving, his body a static image amongst the nightscape. His coat billows from his form, a dark, gold-trimmed statement of aristocracy. Near his thigh lies the cloak he keeps just for the days where the sun beats down hotly on the earth, its hood a long and droopy thing.

If he feels Trevor staring, he makes no comment on it. Trevor’s discovered that Alucard’s senses are just as sharp as a full-blooded vampire, if not even more refined than usual. No whispers go unheard, no footsteps or even the smallest of creaks escape his ears. Perhaps that is why he stares so intently, so swept up in the sounds of the forest that he must strain to pick out the noises from each other. This is why Trevor is happy that humans can have selective hearing. He can barely imagine the sensory overload that must be.

Still, it's only a few moments later that Alucard does choose to speak, and he does it without once turning his eyes away. “I believe you should be sleeping.” His voice is monotonous, a smooth timbre that even in itself seems strange… unnatural.

Trevor crosses his arms, his head ducking further into the collar of his undershirt. He suddenly wishes that he had the fur of his cloak about him. “Believe me when I say I've been trying.”

Alucard says nothing to that. It's almost as if he didn't hear Trevor speak, or simply chose to ignore him for some absurd reason. Trevor glowers at him momentarily, his mouth twisting into a scornful frown, before he's rolling his eyes and blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes.

But then, he is speaking, and he's shifting just enough to look at Trevor, his gold eyes eerily bright in the darkness of the night. Trevor believes it's akin to staring down a hungry wolf, and the visual makes him swallow past a dry throat. “What troubles you, Belmont?”

“What's not troubling me?” Trevor retorts, almost casually with a shrug of his shoulders, and the unreadable expression on Alucard’s face spurs him on. “There’s a horde of undead and demons ravaging the country. A constantly moving castle spitting out monsters. A centuries old vampire swearing doom on humanity. Take your pick. I'm sure your guess will be right either way.”

“Are you just now realizing?” Here, Trevor's glower grows deeper, and Alucard blinks at him slowly. “Forgive the offense. I merely meant that your insomnia has been a product of recent.”

“I could name any of the former, but I suppose sleeping next to a vampire is proving to be a little difficult. Not quite used to that one. Almost like curling up next to a starved wolf.”

Alucard’s eyes lower momentarily, and there's a display of long, pale lashes dipping down to almost touch the swell of his cheekbones. Trevor's notices this briefly, and the small detail has him pausing to look. He eventually shakes his head and averts his eyes, feeling that the observation is almost too intimate.

“I would not bring harm to you nor Sypha.” Alucard pulls his hands away from the log, and opts to smooth them over his thighs. Trevor’s eyes are back on him at once, and they catch the ominous glint of nails that resemble shards of sharp porcelain rather than bone. “I don't wish to bring harm to any human, good or evil. I only wish to stop my father. And then, upon succeeding in that endeavor, I'll return to my sleep. You will not have to worry about me walking the earth again.”

This brings a stunned and thoughtful pause to Trevor, who can't help but feel a pang of bitterness for Alucard. For whatever reason, he is unsure. “You're going to crawl back into that crypt and sleep forever? Can you even do that?”

He receives a slow, resigned nod. “The only thing that awoke me was your and Sypha’s intrusion. Rest assured that next time, there will not be a repeat of that.”

“So why then?” And really, does Trevor even care? Perhaps not. It's an easy solution to what would otherwise be a messy situation. It had already been set in the deepest reaches of his mind that he may try and kill Alucard soon after his father’s death. But that was a foolish thought, because then there would be Sypha to contend with, and honestly, the more Trevor dwells on that plan of action, the more sour it seems to become. So instead, Trevor chooses to huff out a laugh, his voice tinged with light-hearted sarcasm. “Why not disappear into the countryside, find a pretty girl, and settle down? You're already breaking the mold.”

At this, Alucard’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, but not menacingly. The gold irises turn to meet Trevor’s own, and the cold set of them has Trevor wanting to sigh at his inability to recognize a playful quip. “My blood is cursed, Belmont. I cannot fathom the idea of furthering it from myself. The idea is abhorrible.” He's blinking away, a slight hiss of breath passing by his parted lips. “If it were possible at all, might I add.”

“Your parents conceived you. Hell, who is the say that you couldn't try?” And really, this is trudging into conversational territory that is both baffling and morbidly interesting. Trevor Belmont shouldn't be discussing the possibilities of vampires and half-breeds being able to procreate, let alone with a dhampir, but forethought has never been one of his stronger qualities.

“I don't  _want_ to.” Alucard's voice grows colder, harder, his tone edging on what almost seems like annoyance. “As soon as Dracula is done away with,” he reiterates once more, “I will lock myself away, so that there will never be mention of me or my family again. My family’s curse will be wiped clean of the earth, and all will be as it should be.”  

Then the walls are going up again, and Alucard is turning to focus his luminescent eyes on the dark forest once more. His posture suggests that he’ll have no more words with Trevor, and the hunter huffs out a sigh before resting his cheek against the round of his hand, his tired eyes narrowed bitterly at the outline of the dhampir’s side.

If the bastard is so intent on locking himself up and throwing away the key, then so be it. Trevor doesn’t care either way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had always been Alucard’s idea that they travel by day, regardless of Sypha’s desire to do whatever they needed to accommodate him.

“There will be less danger. We will be apt to crossing paths with others, and news of recent attacks will reach our ears much faster.” He had said all of this under the heavy hood of his cape, his eyes barely visible beneath its dark shadows. As slithers of the sun began to peak in at the slightest incline of his head, Trevor had noticed that his skin was unnervingly pale, even more so in the revealing light of day.

“Will that not be uncomfortable for you? Surely it will leave you fatigued…” Sypha spares a concerned glance at Trevor, which he had answered with a half-hearted shrug.

“I am not as susceptible to daytime as others are. Rest easy, Sypha. I will be fine.”

That had been that, and despite Sypha’s words having had some sort of merit to them, it wasn't terribly cumbersome or slowing. Alucard showed no signs of tiring in the sunlight, but Trevor didn’t miss the way his eyes would narrow during the times the sun would break through the thick cloud coverage. The dhampir would pull on his hood, leaving only the pale outline of his lips to be seen, and walk with his eyes lowered.

Targoviste remained a good distance away, and the constant stops at villages both standing and recently ransacked slowed their progress bit by bit. Their encounters with the Nighthorde had been mercifully sparse, and the bulk of their forces had always disappeared before they could fully stumble onto them. Only the stragglers that remained behind to feast on the carrion posed a threat, and not much of a one at that. Funny, Trevor thinks, how unobservant the monsters can be when they’re bent over the dead and cooling corpse of a human.

Throughout their small skirmishes in their short time together, Trevor had come to realize a blaring weakness that left him questioning his own strengths. It had been on full display during his fight with Alucard, but he’d been blind to realize it before, and with two other capable fighters twisting into the fray with him, it became all the more obvious.

At a range, he was deadly. He could flail and direct his whip in ways that would leave others reeling, their eyes going cross as they tried to keep track of the blessed cord. It was his pride, after all, the signature weapon of his family, and the one thing that could often incite fear into the eyes of any monster. It was soaked in generations of blood, be it undead or demon. It was a bane, in every sense of the word, and rightfully feared by many.

Past the whip was where Trevor’s defenses became flimsy. He may have been trained with a shortsword, but it was far from his preferred weapon and more of a fallback for which he more often than not prayed he wouldn’t have to use. This often saw Alucard having to be the one to knock away encroaching monsters, or Sypha directing a gust of frozen wind to knock them off their balance, long enough for Trevor to scuttle out of the fray and back to his primary weapon.

Honestly, he entertained the thought of gluing the damn thing to his hand. It seemed everything these days tried to snatch it away from him.

Still, weakness accounted for, it was also a clear indicator of how well their strange tandem worked together. How convenient, that they all seemed to cover for what the other lacked. “We make quite the team, no?” Sypha had bellowed proudly after a quickly demolished ambush, and as loathe as Trevor was to do it, he had to admit that she was right. They fit together like a eyesore of a puzzle, all bringing different colors and designs to the table, but ultimately painting a picture that was both complete and captivating to the outside eye.

But most of all, Alucard was the standout slayer, and this shone through quickly as his powers began to regenerate over the passing week. Trevor paled to think of how much shorter their “fight” would have been had the dhampir been at full capacity.

“When my father lashed out at me, he had dealt me a considerable amount of damage. I had originally planned to sleep for longer than I did, but your intrusion had come earlier than anticipated. I am not fully recovered yet, and I fear that it may yet be a while before I am back to my old self.”

“Hope you get it all back before we reach Targoviste.” Trevor eyes him warily, his back resting against the blood-splattered bricks of a home dotting the small village they’d stopped in for the night. Said small village had been the victim of a few stray monsters leaking out from the mass of the Nighthorde, but luck had been on the peasants’ side as the three of them had just been wandering in as the attack started.

Alucard pulls back the hem of his coat, letting the silver longsword slide back into its elegant sheath. The blackened blood of the Nighthorde dots his hands and stains his silvery hair in small places, where the strands matte together ever so slightly under the viscous liquid. Sypha stands to the side, off a bit on her own, tending to the weeping and fear-stricken form of an elderly woman who seems to be in the beginning stages of mourning. Trevor spies the bloodied form of a linen bag covering what he can only assume to be the remains of her lost one.

“I predict that I’ll have the majority of my powers back before we make our ascent into my father’s castle. However… their return can be quickened by certain means, that of which I’m certain you would kill me for entertaining the thought of.” Gold irises glance up to fix Trevor with a mostly flat look, but he swears he can almost see an edge of resentment in them.

“Our deal was to save Wallachia, not add to the body count. You seem to be getting by just fine, so why start complaining now?” Trevor rolls the length of his whip about his hand, looping and looping the cord about itself until he can hang it off his belt once again. He steps away from the wall, and can feel a sticky dampness clinging to the back of his shirt. He'll have to wash it soon.

“You want me to be stronger when we face my father. This is how.” Alucard’s hand rests on the hilt of his sword, his skin only a few shades lighter than the gleaming metal of its sheath. Under the growing intensity of the moonlight, his hair is dyed to an almost bone-white color, blending seamlessly into the pigment of his face.   

Yet his eyes play a stark contrast, full of unusual color and a clear reminder of what he is. Trevor’s hand slips into the belt of his breeches, his fingers gripping the thin edge of a throwing knife hidden away from the common eye. He pulls the blade free, tossing it over and over in his hand before suddenly thrusting it out, its razor sharp edge pointed at the spot between Alucard’s eyes. It never leaves his hand, and Alucard does not flinch.

“You put your mouth on someone, and I’m driving this thing into your chest. Is that clear?” Trevor’s eyes go gaunt, his brows furrowing and casting sharp lines across his face

“You fear I will kill someone.” Alucard eyes the throwing dagger with distaste, though his stance remains relaxed, unthreatened.

“Damn right, I do.”

“I will not. I never have. Never a human.”

The throwing knife lowers a smidgen, and there’s clear skepticism on Trevor’s face. “Bullshit.”

“You don’t believe me? I suspected as much. My answer remains the same, however.” Alucard finally moves, his feet carrying him forward in careful, slow strides. Trevor’s arm begins to fall from its position, his stance softening a bit as the knife comes down to his side. “My mother, you’ve heard of her. She was a woman of science, but furthermore, a woman who believed that humanity, despite its flaws, deserved the right to live. Even as she stood burning on the pyre built by those who feared and hated her, she begged me to spare every single one of them. That was her dying wish.”

Trevor allows his eyes to lower, the sight of Alucard’s advance stirring something uneasy and prickly in him. It was akin to a wolf stalking its prey, the way his eyes seemed to bore into Trevor, unmoving and bright and eerie in the darkness of the night.

The claws and fangs only lended to his trepidation.

“Do you think, for a moment, that I would forsake that wish?” Alucard’s footsteps carry him past Trevor, where he makes the sharp turn to stand at his back, his height putting him a few inches over the hunter. Despite how his skin dances with alarm, Trevor doesn’t turn to face him. “I have ways of feeding myself that are not senselessly violent, Belmont. Do you think I go about ripping the throats out of every innocent person I meet? If that were the case, you would not be standing here, alive as you are.”

There’s a whisper of wind at Trevor’s ear, and he turns quickly, his shoulders squaring as a slew of words build on his tongue, but fall away once he sees that Alucard is no longer behind him. It takes a few moments of floundering about cluelessly before he spots the billowing coat disappearing around the bend of a brick wall, Alucard’s form marred by shadows that play upon the human eye’s weakness.

Trevor curses beneath his breath, one hand coming to rub at the back of his neck as the other tucks away the throwing knife. He feels another set of eyes upon him, and turns to where Sypha still remained, the old woman’s head pressed against her shoulder. Despite this, Sypha’s eyes were trained on him, her lips parted in a perplexed expression.

Trevor shakes his head at her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alucard returns at dawn, where he meets a revitalized Sypha and a hungover Trevor waiting for him outside the town’s inn. Trevor, despite the pounding of his temples and the heavy sway to his vision, notices the crimson staining the corner of the dhampir’s mouth.

He glares, and Alucard straightens his back, his gold eyes glancing down the bridge of his nose at the hunter. Sypha glances between the two of them, and sighs heavily, her eyes coming to a dramatic roll as she snags the cloth of Trevor’s cape and pulls him forward. “We are all friends, here. Good friends. Great friends. The absolute best of each other’s company.” Her voice is heavy with sarcasm.

“Couldn’t have asked for a better crew, honestly.” Trevor drawls, his voice slurring over the words, and his eyes remain fixed on Alucard, even as Sypha pulls him by. His head turns painfully until he can bare the angle no more. The motion sends a bolt of pain through his unfocused eyes and his boots seem to catch on each other as he stumbles forward. Sypha is barely able to catch his weight and steady him.

“Of course, first town we find on our long journey, and you spend the majority of the night drinking it away. Brilliant, Trevor!” She jerks him upright, which has him groaning out a noise of protest.

“I will throw up on you, and believe me when I say that it's ready to happen at any moment now. Don’t test me.”

“I will piss in your tankard.” Sypha retorts, and Trevor goes quiet at that, because honestly, she probably would.

Alucard’s voice startles an indignant noise out of Trevor, because suddenly he is right behind the two of them, and his voice is uncomfortably close to the back of Trevor’s ear. “Have we finished yet?”

“Yes,” Sypha groans at the same time that Trevor grumbles out a slurred, “No”.

That morning begins as a rough test of constitution for Trevor, who, somehow in the break between Gresit and their most recent stop, had forgotten how to hold his drink properly. “I doubt you ever could.” Had been Sypha’s sharp retort, which had garnered a jumbled mess of half words and incomprehensible noises from the hungover hunter.

“Find the biggest tree you can and dump my body there. Or better yet, let’s turn around and go back.” Sypha’s brow holds back a bead of sweat, and her face is drawn into a hot glare. Even by noon, Trevor had yet to snap out of his stupor, his body swaying from left to right and threatening to spill out of her hold. Even he was tiring of his hangover, which seemed to be dragging on longer than usual

“We are two hours out of town. You can crawl your way back, if you must, but we're not turning around.” He begins to slip to the right, his weight threatening to topple Sypha with him, but she yanks him back into a standing position. “Urgh, can you at least try to be helpful? What are you to do if a creature were wont to wander into our path?”

“You've never seen me fight drunk.”

“You shouldn't fight drunk at all.” She grumbles half-heartedly. Sypha huffs out a breath of frustration, her right arm beginning to grow strained from Trevor’s dead weight. “Why must you be so heavy…”

There's a pause to her steps, and she prepares to sling Trevor back on her arm, but then the weight is disappearing from her limb, and Trevor is mumbling out a noise of protest. Sypha glances over the fur of the hunter’s cloak, and spies Alucard supporting the opposite side of Trevor.

Of course, the sudden proximity seems to raise Trevor’s hackles. “Woah, woah, cold! What the hell are you doing?”

“Supporting Lady Sypha. Perhaps, if you had not chosen to spend the night in a tavern, this could have been avoided.” Despite the protest, Alucard is careful to try and hold himself at a distance, his touch fleeting and spare. Yet, he still bears the greatest amount of Trevor’s weight.

Still, it's the first time they've shared contact since their skirmish together, and the association of danger is still there for Trevor. There's also a part of him that balks at the dhampir’s proximity, as if the touch of Alucard’s hand might poison him and render him ill.

“My choices, not yours.”

Alucard spares a fleeting look from the corner of his eyes, and his nose scrunches up briefly, as if the lingering smell of ale is sickening. “I ask that you refrain next time.”

The afternoon is long, and it's not until early evening that Trevor’s senses return to himself, and he's left with a throbbing headache as punishment. Sypha complains of a sore arm, and Alucard levels him with looks ranging from wary to outright critical disapproval. Trevor purposely turns his back to the both of them, and tosses his cloak over his head as he lies down to sleep later that night.

He ignores the bitter tang of spilt ale on his clothes, and tries not to let guilt get the best of him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Rise and shine. We have a lot of distance to cover today, and there will be no hangover for you to use as an excuse.”

Sypha leans over Trevor, the robes about her body blocking the first few rays of the sun out of his eyes. His cloak is pulled up to his nose, his blue eyes narrowed in protest.

“Not an excuse if it's true.” He grumbles and pulls the cloak over his burning and red-tinted eyes.

There's a hand fisting into his cloak not even a moment later, and Sypha is pulling it away and surrendering Trevor to the full brunt of the cool morning air. “You're like a child sometimes, I swear. You remind me of rousing young children from their sleep. Now, get up. Right this instant.”

Trevor rolls over, and feels a hollow pang shoot through his stomach. He had been unable to eat yesterday, what with his stomach rolling and threatening to expel all the ale he'd drank. In hindsight, he wishes he'd found a tree to vomit behind. He probably would have sobered much faster if he'd done that.

His hands splay over his abdomen, the faint rumbles of hunger wringing a groan from him. Trevor's eyes drag over their makeshift campsite. It's merely a pile of pale embers by this point, with only that and a surrounding pile of ashes left to indicate their presence.

That, and skewered upon a stick and resting on a torn piece of cloth lies a small strip of meat, no bigger than his hand, but still looking better than anything he's seen this morning. Rabbit, Trevor presumes, by the looks of it.

There's movement to his right, and Trevor notices that Alucard is pulling his hood over the crown of his long, silvery hair. He's seated on a smooth, large rocky outcropping, his sword resting by his side and a leg crossed over the other. The dhampir is making a small motion with his boots, akin to that of a person waiting almost impatiently. As strange as it is, it’s probably the most animated that Trevor has ever seen him.

“You are welcome.” Alucard murmurs quietly, and Trevor swears he can hear the barest amount of sarcasm in his voice.

“What about Sypha?” Trevor asks, eyeing the greasy game like a starving man… which wasn't too large of an exaggeration.

“I got two.” The speaker says triumphantly, now standing at her full height and towering over Trevor's side. And yes, he does notice the two discarded sticks tossed only a foot or two from the fire.

“Ah, special treatment. I see.” There's no real contention in his voice. Trevor's expression even turns bright as he reaches for the makeshift skewer, his mouth filling with water at the prospect of eating it.

If anything, he's glad that Alucard places Sypha’s needs higher than his own. Trevor is used to scrounging by, especially after his family’s excommunication from the Church. Even though he's sure that Speakers probably don’t fare much better, he at least knows the bare minimum of food that he could get by with.

The humble meal is swallowed in only a few bites, and it leaves Trevor craving more, but life isn't so simple. Especially not in his predicament, and with their limited travel space. No sacks, no caravan, just the clothes on their backs and whatever food the wilds will offer them.

What’s left of the campfire is stomped out by Trevor's boot, and the ashes are spread amongst the ground. Alucard’s sword goes back to his side, and Sypha returns from a nearby stream with a filled waterskin, which Trevor nearly tears out of her grip once he sees it.

“Rude,” she mumbles as he drains half of it, her arms coming to cross over her chest. “Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners?”

Trevor pushes the waterskin back into Sypha’s hands, his braced forearm coming to wipe at his mouth. “No, my mother taught me how to use throwing knives and that crying wouldn't get me anything in life.”

“Your mother sounds like a strange woman.”

The sound of Alucard's voice is almost jarring. Trevor turns and fixes him with a challenging look, a brow arching as his lips rose into a smirk, “Could very well say the same to you.”

In hindsight, it was certainly a poor choice of words. Trevor would have revoked them if he could have. Alucard's mouth twists into a sneer, and it's the first raw display of emotion since Trevor had managed to wound him in their battle. His teeth are bared, a rare showing of the full length of his fangs, and Trevor can faintly hear the shrill sound of a hiss slip past them.  

“I jest,” Trevor backtracks, his hands coming up into a gesture of goodwill. He feels Sypha’s elbow dig into his back, a clear indicator that the quip was in bad taste.

Alucard’s face relaxes, and his head dips down, his eyes moving away from Trevor to some unseen thing. At his sides, his hands unfurl from the fists they had been, and Trevor can see red crescents in his skin. “Do not speak ill of my mother.” His voice is soft, and barely a murmur at that.

“Hey, I won't even bring her up again. That's obviously a sore spot for you,” Trevor makes a motion of settling his cloak over his shoulders, but really, he just wants to smother the unease of the situation. “...Understandably.”

Alucard says nothing, and slips past both hunter and Seeker, his footsteps taking him back to the mottled road that they were travelling on. Trevor releases a sigh laden with curses.

“Oh, what a wonderful day we have ahead of ourselves. I’m positively brimming with excitement at the aspect of it!” Sypha’s scoff is petty, and she pushes past Trevor, her legs carrying her quickly to fall in step behind Alucard.

Trevor watches for a moment, debating whether or not he's even welcome to the entourage anymore, before taking off into a sprint in order to catch up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next bit of civilization they run into isn’t even big enough to be considered a village. Only a lone tavern and a handful of rickety houses govern the muddy road leading through them. There’s not even an inn for travelers to rent out, and Sypha is vocally annoyed by the lack of accommodations. Her excitement at finding the standing of houses had died almost immediately.

Trevor tells her to find a comfy looking spot on the ground and make do with it. Though she didn’t complain much of it, he could see the displeasure written clearly on her face, in the way that her brows furrowed deeply and her lips were thin pressed. Sypha gives no clear indication of where she’s heading, and promptly disappears on her own.

There’s a stable settled off to the far side of a rundown home, and after a surprisingly short lived visit to the tavern, Trevor quietly makes his way over to it. He pushes past the cheap wooden gate and finds exactly what he’s looking for in the form of a hay pile. There’s a small clap of his hands together before he’s settling down, spreading out his cloak over the small incline of hay and wiggling ever so slightly until he’s found a comfortable spot to sink into.

The stable roof sports holes and sliced openings in it, and from his spot, Trevor can see where the moon has stopped in the sky for the time being, full and round and casting a comforting light over the bucolic village. The drink from the tavern warms his face and chest, and while more sober than he would have originally liked, it’s enough to promise at least a little sleep, and Trevor will make do with what he can.

His hand slides to where he knows his gold pouch is, and when it palms over the bag, the pitiful amount of coins he feels drags a groan out of him. As it’s going, he won’t be able to afford the next town they choose to rest at, and that’s taking into account a room and a drink. Trevor feels indignancy surge through him, and he mentally berates himself for the lack of forethought.

“One or the other, Trevor,” He murmurs to himself, arms coming to cross over his chest as the cool night air begins to settle into his skin. “You chose your drink, now you must lie with it.”

Sleep finds him quickly, which is strange, but completely welcome at first. However, it soon turns into a fitful bout, as Trevor finds himself floating between wakefulness and the edge of unconsciousness, but never fully both. He tosses and turns, sending strings of hay splattering all over his clothes and cloak, and it’s not until he hears the faint creak of wood moving that he eventually concedes the fight. He wrenches himself up into a sitting position, his eyes bleary and settling on where the sound had emanated from.

Trevor reaches for where his shortsword is resting beside him, and draws it from its sheath, his voice rough and throat dry as he points it toward the gate, “If you’ve come for trouble, then I’ll give you fair warning and say that I’m not in the best of moods right now.” The shadows cast by the stable’s roof eclipse most of his sight, but they don’t hide the faint shimmer of eyes that break through their inky cover. Trevor releases a small breath, his head shaking as the shortsword is lowered. “A word of advice, but it may not be a bad thing to try and make some noise if you’re approaching someone you know. Being sneaky? That’s how people get stabbed.”

Alucard steps through the shadows, the form of his cape and coat coming into view as he stops before Trevor’s resting spot. “Forgive me. It’s a… force of habit.”

“Yes, well,” The shortsword is shoved back into its sheath, and Trevor readjusts himself so that he’s not so much sinking into the hay pile as he is just sitting on top of it now. He leans forward, elbows coming to rest on top of his thighs as he regards the dhampir with tired eyes. “I’m sure you didn’t just stop by to say hello.”

“I didn’t. I actually have information pertinent to Targoviste.”

“Oh?” Really, though, it shouldn’t be any surprise that Alucard didn’t simply stop by to talk. Trevor thinks, idly, that the man mustn’t do anything unless it requires purpose, which sounds awful to him, personally. Spontaneity would do him some good… Or perhaps not. Alucard is unnerving enough as it is.  “You actually talked to people?”

“I spoke to the Speakers of Gresit. Why do you find that so odd now?”

Trevor shrugs, “Speakers are weird folk. It didn’t cross my mind at the time.”

There’s a pause from Alucard, but only a short one before he’s picking up where he left off, “Refugees passing by the town have said that Targoviste has been strangely empty as of late.”

That has Trevor perking up, “Empty? How so?”

“In recent days, there has not been any presence of the Nighthorde or otherwise. Besides being filled with bones, the city is empty, and so is the sky.” Alucard shifts his weight so that he’s leaning against one of the stable’s posts, a hand propped against his hip as he speaks.

Trevor narrows his eyes, his mind piecing together the information. He doesn’t like what it insinuates, “So you’re telling me that there’s a chance that the castle has moved? We’re just wasting our time then?”

“It is a possibility, or,” Alucard’s eyes follow the streams of moonlight to where they’re peeking in from the roof’s holes, “Perhaps there is something sinister at play here.”

“You mean a trap.” Alucard nods, and Trevor hisses out an annoyed breath, his fingers coming to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Fucking great. So we’re walking into this blindly?”

“Unless you have another plan of action, then yes, we are. We could spend time trying to decipher what’s happening, but then-”

“That’s just wasting time, and time means more bodies.” Trevor gives a stiff shake of his head. “Then we just walk into it, and pray that nothing happens.”

“As long as we can get in,” Alucard departs from the post, his footsteps carrying him closer, “I believe that is the most important goal at hand, currently. But I will warn you; my father’s castle is a living thing, a chaotic structure that changes constantly. I fear it will be even more erratic now. There’s a good chance that we could find ourselves lost in it for a frightening amount of time.”

“Didn’t you used to live in the thing?”

Alucard hesitates, but then shakes his head, slowly, “No. I spent the majority of my time with my mother, and my father abandoned his structure to walk the land as a man would. Because that is what she wanted of him.”

Trevor’s curiosity is piqued at that, “But you found yourself back in the castle somehow?”

“I knew it would be where I could find him, after he had learned of what had happened.” The dhampir’s hand raises to his chest, where the large scar of his father’s claws lies beneath his shirt. “I believed he would listen to reason. I was wrong. I offered that he kill the perpetrator of my mother’s death instead. He refused again, and in turn, refused to spare any innocents.”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I guess I can see where he’s coming from.” At the slight look of astonishment on Alucard’s face, Trevor quickly tacks on. “Not that it justifies any of this shit. Not at all.”

“I would have done it myself, if I knew he wasn’t going to beforehand. But never did I imagine he would go to these lengths.” There’s a barely audible sigh slipping from Alucard, a forlorn noise full of sorrow. “I loved my mother more than anything. I could fathom no place in my heart for anyone except for her. I thought, ‘Surely, if I must be in this much pain, then it must be absolute torture for him’. I was right. But that doesn’t give him the authority to pass judgment like this.”

It’s perhaps the most tender thing Trevor has heard from the dhampir, and the entire thing is honestly a bit jarring. It’s becoming harder and harder to separate monster from man, because for every snapshot of Alucard baring his teeth or shredding something with his claws, he’s spilling something intimate about his feelings and his family.

The longer he spends with this man, the more he’s growing further and further apart from the monster that Trevor initially thought he was.

“I can see that this is becoming too personal. You’ll have to excuse me.” Alucard’s form turns, his shoulder eclipsing his face as he prepares to leave Trevor alone.

“No, not really.” The dhampir’s footsteps pause, his gold eyes glancing over his shoulder at the hunter. “Listen, you’re talking to a living and breathing example of a crumbled family dynamic. I understand the whole thing of not having enough power to hold something together, okay? It’s not just going into one ear and out the other.”

“Then it was selfish of me to have tried to push my own concerns onto you.”

“You’ve got a strange way of perceiving things. For as much as I’ve complained on this trip - and let’s be brutally honest, I’ve not shut my mouth for a long while - I think you’ve earned your fair share of bellyaching.” Trevor's face lights up into a smirk, especially once Alucard turns to face him once more.

Alucard says nothing to that at first, but Trevor can almost see the clockwork going in his eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I've never been wont to complain for anything. It will not change things.”

“It'll take some weight off your shoulders.” It doesn't matter, as Trevor can already see that Alucard won't be opening up to him on the issue again. So instead, he chooses to shift the conversation to something else. “So you really plan on throwing yourself into an endless sleep after this? Is there nothing worth sticking around for?”

“My family will be completely gone after our battle. There will be nothing left for me.” That shouldn't sting as much as it does, Trevor thinks. Worse yet, Trevor gets the sneaking suspicion that Alucard has been repeating this to himself more than anyone else.

“There could be,” Trevor suggests, his voice quieting to a soft degree. “Listen, I know your parents are probably the only two things in your world, but there's a lot more outside of that.”

“You would ask me to continue wandering around Wallachia with no purpose?”

There's a look of exasperation on Trevor’s face as he fights back the urge to roll his eyes, “Alright, share with me this: before Targoviste and before the Nighthorde attacks… before everything that led up to your mother’s death, what was it that you wanted to do most?”

Alucard seems to contemplate this quietly, his eyes moving from Trevor’s face to various unseen things around the stable. “I… wanted to help my mother with her work.”

“She was a healer, right?”

“A doctor.” Alucard corrects him.

Trevor splays his arms wide, as if the answer is obvious. “Sounds like a good enough purpose?”

Alucard releases a quietly held breath, the soft sounds of some unintelligible word or two dying on his lips. Trevor can see it on his face, the conflict of interest and the ensuing despair of not being able to make a choice. Or, at least not the one he believes Alucard wants to make. “No… no. That's a foolish sentiment.”

“There's no arguing with you, then.” Trevor sighs, and let's himself slip back down into the pile of hay. “Whatever. Can't say I didn't try.”

“Should I leave you alone to sleep?”

“You can do anything you want, as long as it doesn't involve you standing there and staring at me all night.” That's a creepy visual, and one that doesn't seem too far out of the realm of possibility.

“I should see to it that Lady Sypha is safe then.” Trevor doesn't bother to wait for Alucard to leave, instead turning on his side and curling into a semi-comfortable position.

“See to that, then. I'm going to sleep.”

Alucard slips out of the stable silently, with not even the creak of the wooden gate rousing Trevor this time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They were lucky to have found the abandoned cabin a few nights later. Returning to the road usually promised cold nights of sleeping on the edge of the woods with naught but their clothes and a shoddy campfire to keep them warm. While the cabin offered only a meager amount of space and a single bed to share between them, it was still better than anything they'd had outside of towns and villages.

Trevor had leaned over the firepit and stared up into the chimney to check for any blockage, and was thrilled to see that there was none. He’d laughed, a raspy, excited noise as he turned to speak to Sypha, but had found that she’d already climbed onto the hay-filled mattress, her body curled in on itself and her breathing even, relaxed.

“Well, shit. Was going to ask her to light a fire, but I guess that’s out of the question now.” Trevor, who’d been hunched by the fire pit, falls back and allows himself to sit. His hands roam around the various pockets and hidden alcoves of his gear, but he should have known that he wouldn’t have a flint and steel on him.

Alucard comes to kneel near the dead ashes of the last flame, wordlessly inspecting it before instructing Trevor, “Find something for a kindling. I will take care of it.”

Trevor sends him a confused look, but quickly obliges, snatching up what few flammable materials he can find around the painfully small cabin. The single rickety cabinet yields a worn cloth, and as loathe as he is to do it, he finds the marred form of a book hidden underneath the bed. The words are so smudged from use, he can barely read it, and it seems as though pages had been plucked at random from the spine.

“Suppose we’ll need actual wood?” He dumps the few supplies by Alucard, and straightens into a stand. Alucard nods quietly, already assembling the sparse materials into the fire pit. “Right, well, I’ll be back soon I guess.”

The night is dark and cold, and Trevor doubts that he’ll find anything super useful in the dew-soaked terrain surrounding the cabin. After an half-hour’s search, he does manage to assemble a decent looking pile of dead twigs and branches. It won’t burn all night, but it’s better than sitting in the cold.

He returns to the cabin, where it seems that Alucard hasn’t moved, and drops the firewood onto the floor. That wrings a flinch out of him and a pointed look from Alucard once he’s realized what he’s done, and Trevor turns warily to see if Sypha has awoken. The Speaker mumbles something softly under her breath, and turns away from the two, her back now facing them as she curls towards the wall.

“Sorry, sorry,” Trevor’s whispered apology is full of chagrin, and he retakes his spot next to Alucard, waiting for whatever it is the dhampir is going to do.

Alucard pulls the thickest of the branches from the pile, and places them on top of the kindling. And then, similar to Sypha’s own magic, his fingertips are producing a flame, and the kindling begins to catch fire, sending small, glowing embers floating up towards the chimney. The only difference is that the orbs of fire that he produces are black at their core, suggesting something much darker than the magic that Sypha creates.

“This’ll probably sound stupid, but I should have known.” And really, Trevor hadn’t thought about Alucard using magic, but it should have been expected. Half vampire or full, it was probably in his blood to be able to do so.

“This is all I can manage for now.” Alucard leans back, away from the slowly growing fire as the kindling catches on the wood, producing sharp crackles as the material begins to burn. “It’s nothing but a shadow of what I will be able to do.”

“Yeah, about that,” Trevor shucks off his cape, and tosses it up onto the bed where it lands at Sypha’s boots. “How is that coming along? The whole regeneration thing?”

“Painfully slow.” Trevor can already feel where this conversation is leading, and really, he’s not quite in the mood to entertain it. Alucard turns his eyes, bright and sharp and brilliantly gold, towards him, and Trevor is once again vividly aware that their companion is not all human. It’s like every interaction is a constant, frightening reminder. “I… suppose you haven’t lightened on your stance?"

The hunter pats his whip, where it remains curled and hung from his belt. “Depends on whether or not you want this thing wrapped around your neck?”

There’s a moment where Alucard’s eyes drop to the now steadily burning flames, before they’re flitting up again to regard Trevor with something akin to hesitation. “If that is what it took.”

Trevor falters, his mouth opening on silent words, and he flounders for a good bit before shaking his head, skeptically, “You’d let me basically hold you at death’s bay if it meant you could feed properly?” There’s another shake of his head, his lips are spreading into a dubious smile, “You’ve got to be getting desperate to agree to that.”

“I only care about our upcoming battle. My level of thirst matters not to me, but the extent of my powers do. The fact that they are directly correlated to each other is merely an unfortunate link.” Alucard says this as if he’s had to explain it a hundred times. His expression darkens to a despondent and jaded one.

“Listen…” Trevor begins, but he has no immediate words. What can he say to Alucard that will justify himself, other than to bring up the fact that he’s still inherently a vampire and that no good Belmont would let one feed from the unsuspecting masses? At this point, it’s a battle of morality rather than what’s best for everyone, because Trevor already knows the answer to that. He just doesn’t like it. Still, his next words surprise even himself. “We’ll work something out soon, alright?”

It even seems to catch Alucard off guard. He blinks, slowly, at Trevor, his eyes widened ever so slightly. However, it doesn’t take him long to recover, and soon he’s back to his bland expressions and toneless voice. “Very well, then.”

Trevor expects to sit in silence with him for the rest of the night, but then Alucard is standing swiftly, and the cloak is being pulled off of his shoulders and tossed aside onto the bed. Trevor watches him, warily, from his spot on the floor, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you doing now?”

“You and Lady Sypha must eat.” It’s all Alucard offers as he tiptoes around Trevor, taking the very few steps needed to reach the cabin’s door.

“That tells me a lot.”

“I am going _hunting_ ,” Alucard places a heavy amount of emphasis on the last word, and his tone suggests that he’s growing weary of talking. “You should stay alert and guard the cabin. I will return shortly, perhaps in an hour’s time.”

There’s some sort of irony in the statement, that Alucard is preparing to head off into the woods to secure another dinner for them, whilst Trevor continually denies the dhampir a proper meal. “Try not to die out there. We still need you for this fight.”

The dhampir pauses in the doorway, his hand resting against the frame as he contemplates his words. “Rest assured, I am more safe at night than any other time of day.”

Trevor hears the door close gently, and then he’s releasing a pent up sigh, his eyes closing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The fire will need to be tended to, and as tired as he suddenly feels, Alucard is right. He must stay awake to keep watch over Sypha. So he scoots back, until his back hits the edge of the bed, and tries to find a comfortable position to lounge in as the fire crackles and casts ominous shadows over the wall.

The minutes are roughly counted, but when Trevor deigns that an hour has passed, he rises from his spot on the floor and quietly exits the cabin. The night is dark, with the moon in its waning phase and the trees towering like black statues over the cabin. Trevor’s arms come to wrap about himself, and his breath is only an exodus of fog, a testament to how cold the night actually is. He suddenly regrets not bringing his cloak out with him.

The forest is silent, save for the occasional hoot of an owl, or the sound of the wind animating the trees. Trevor waits, and waits, and can’t help but worry when there’s no sign of Alucard in the canopy of trees. His fingers are beginning to turn numb from the cold, and the conflict of returning inside to wait or venturing out into the wilds to try and find him makes itself known.

He can’t leave Sypha alone, however, and to go alone in the forest would be foolish and dangerous. The Nighthorde is one thing, but there are more monsters than just them that lurk around the forests at night. Trevor knows that werecreatures of all kinds do not require a full moon to hunt, and he’d make a tasty dinner for one of their starving ranks.

He’s about to give up his vigil and return inside when he hears the rustling of a bush, and suddenly Trevor is going taut, his stance widening to that of a combat one, and his hand settling over his whip. “You have but a few seconds to make yourself known. If not, I’m lashing out, do you hear?”

Silence follows his threat, and Trevor grits his teeth, before preparing to route out whatever was hiding. His hand twitches, and the whip is only a short moment away from striking where the sound emanated from, but then a figure does emerge from the dark, and Trevor pauses in his planned attack.

It’s a wolf, ghostly white and hulking, but not unusually so. It strides towards him, carefully, slowly, and Trevor notices that in its mouth lie the flanks of two separate rabbits. He would have questioned why an animal such as this would be approaching him the way it is, if not for the eyes that gave it away.

They were the same gold of Alucard’s own.

Then, as if on queue, the wolf is spitting out the corpses of the rabbits, and its form begins to shimmer, like a mirage on the horizon, and with bursts of a faint violet color erupting in the ripples. Not a moment later, Alucard is standing before him, humanoid again and lacking the blood that marred the wolf’s maw. He bends down, retrieves the two rabbits by hand, and makes his way towards the cabin.

Trevor relaxes a smidgen, but disbelief is apparent on his face. “Not even going to say anything about that?” He turns as Alucard walks by, and follows him back into the warmth of the cabin. The fire is still going, but barely so, and Trevor curses as he sees it. “Probably should have kept an eye on that.”

“Did you think I would catch them by hand? Use a meager little trap?” Alucard lays the rabbits by the hearth, and takes a seat by the bed, his eyes lingering on Trevor expectantly.

Trevor realizes what he’s meaning for, and pulls free a knife, turning the blade towards himself and handing the handle to Alucard. He joins him by the hearth, pulling out his own little blade, and grabs a rabbit to set to work on. “Maybe. I feel like I’m overlooking a lot of things I should know, recently.”

The sound of the skinning is wet and visceral, overpowering the popping of the firewood. “Your family bestiary contains nothing about me. For as eager as you are to call me vampire, you seem to be continually seeing me as something otherwise.”

“You don’t seem too intent on calling yourself that.” Trevor yanks hard, pulls away the fur coat of the rabbit in harsh motions. “You don’t seem intent on settling on either side, honestly. I don’t know where to place you.”

“Neither do I.” Alucard states simply, mirroring Trevor’s own work. The fur peels away from his rabbit much easier. Trevor pauses briefly, his eyes settling on Alucard’s face. From here, he can see the somber look forming over his features. “I have a claim on both sides, but no real position for me on either. I can only try, as I might, to coexist with both parts of myself.”

“Isn’t it enough to just try and be human?” It’s foolish, and Trevor knows it. Alucard is as much a part of the night than he is a part of the day, and the duality of his nature isn’t something that can be simply forgotten, or buried under the pretense of something false.

“I’ve tried. My father tried.” The rabbit’s coat is tossed aside, and here Trevor can see Alucard sawing away its limb, spewing fresh blood onto his hands. A leg peels free from its body, and he places it on the warming hearth. “But try as I might, there will always be a constant reminder that I am, at my core, still a creature of the night. Whether it be my claws,” Rip, tear, blood and skin. “My eyes,” The blade sinks in again, tearing flesh from bone, separating tendons from each other. “Or my fangs.” Alucard places the knife at his side, his fingers gleaming brightly with the sticky blood of the rabbit. “I will never be able to hide from what I truly am.”

Trevor is not even halfway done with his own rabbit, its corpse momentarily forgotten in his lap. Alucard wipes away the blood from his hands, staining the blackness of his cloak a dark red. Trevor watches, rapt with the inclination that the dhampir wouldn’t let the blood go to waste. He’s surprised to see that Alucard has no involvement with it.

“Sorry,” Trevor finds himself blurting out, and he shrugs, not knowing what to say to follow up. The job description only covered killing vampires, not learning to sympathize with their plight. But Trevor also knows that if it were Dracula he were speaking to, he would not be as nearly inclined to have any empathy for him. Rather, he’d probably be fervent with trying to kill him instead.

“Why do you apologize? It’s of no concern to you.” Alucard begins tending to the dying flames again, stoking the fire back to life slowly as he prepares it for roasting. The gentle poke and prod of the fire iron stirs Sypha’s sleep, and the two of them exchange a cautious look as she shifts once more.

When it’s clear that she hasn’t awoken, their conversation continues, “You can’t tell me something like that and expect me to feel nothing. Listen, I know I’m an asshole. _You_ know I’m an asshole. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t sympathize.”

“You didn’t seem to want to when we first met each other.”

“Turns out all it’d take was some clear communication. Who would have guessed?” Lo and behold, Trevor sees Alucard’s lips twitch into a small smile at that. The smile is fleeting, fought back ever so slightly, but then it seems that Alucard gives in, and he laughs at that, a soft chime of his voice that is pleasant on Trevor’s ears. Trevor breathes out a gentle laugh, almost bordering on disbelief, and continues undressing the rabbit.

The night is gentler than most, and more comfortable than any they’ve had together. Trevor spends the majority of it talking mostly about nothing with Alucard, a strange sort of conviviality between them that is welcomed eagerly. And the camaraderie, while unexpected and alien, is pure and good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took creative liberty and made Alucard's wolf form white instead of that gaudy purple. Also! For those of you who are interested in learning more about Castlevania, I would start with **Symphony of the Night**. The guy I recommend to watch is [Vinny from Vinesauce](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mT_kkKRZMLo&list=PLlc94szfcNDFFD7WV1BL2syjfCx0rookj) (the link takes you directly to the playlist), because not only is he a huge fan of the series, his commentary on the entire ordeal is friggin' hilarious.


	2. Bittersweet on His Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the second half! I struggled so hard to churn this out. Who would have guessed that trying to write semi-realistic interactions could be so hard? Not this spicy nerd. But I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion, even if I did feel myself dying from sadness while writing it. I have a feeling that this won't be my last work for this series, nor this pairing. I'm in too deep!

They strike lucky again when, upon preparing to leave the next day, a carriage comes rolling by the cabin. Sypha, still groggy, though seemingly in higher spirits, calls the carriage driver over and converses with him as Trevor and Alucard wait to the side. They stand in comfortable silence, naught but a foot’s width between them, and for once, Trevor doesn’t feel antsy sharing the space.

Sypha soon turns to face them, her lips spread into a smile as she beckons both hunter and dhampir over. “This man has offered to ferry us to the next village. He so happens to be heading in the direction of Targoviste.”

The old man - and really, Trevor thinks the word _ghost_ covers him better - shoots their group a wary look, his thick, overhanging white brows pinching together in concern, “I’ve no reasoning why a group of folk as young as you would be heading for such a damned place, but I suppose that isn’t quite my business, is it?”

“Don’t worry too much about it. We don’t have any good reason, either.” Trevor shoots him a toothy smile, and catches sight of Alucard directing a slightly muddled look his way. “I guess you could say we’re young and reckless.”

“More as though you’ve got a penchant for death, but so be it. There’s room in the back for the three of you. Just push aside the bags. It’s only grain, you won’t hurt it.” The old man jerks his thumb back to the carriage, and the three of them bound around to the back, where the flap is parted enough for them to climb in.

Trevor helps lift Sypha easily into the carriage, and follows after her with a steadied push of his foot. Sypha crawls towards the front, where she finds an empty spot littered with strands of hay and spilt grain. Trevor pauses once he’s under the carriage’s canopy, and turns to where Alucard remains last in line, his hand twitching forward briefly to help the dhampir aboard.

But of course, Alucard clears the height easily with too much grace, and Trevor lets his hand fall back to his side. His eyes linger for a moment, before they’re turning back to Sypha, and he’s half crouching and half walking his way towards the middle.

Sypha leans forward, and peaks her head out of the front of the carriage’s flap, “Thank you again for this. We’ll pay you once we reach town.”

The wrinkled driver merely waves the notion away, his ancient hand sporting many varicose veins, “I’m not going out of my way for anything, so hold your gold. There’s no need.”

Sypha retreats back into the dim light of the carriage. She finds a bag of grain resting against the wooden rails and leans back into it, her cheek coming to rest upon her hand, “Kind old man.”

“I knew your face would be good for something.” Trevor teases, which nearly results in Sypha’s hand meeting his temple, if not for the quick feint he performed. He still eggs her on, despite the attempted swipe. “I mean, old man in a cart, driving in the middle of a forest. If it were me, I guarantee you he wouldn’t have stopped.”

“Oh, you are deplorable sometimes. Urgh!” She swats at him again, and Trevor lets her hand meet the top of his head. It’s not anything painful, more like a playful bump instead.

“I bet he would have even stopped for Alucard.” This gains the attention of said man, who’d found a spot in the carriage’s corner, sandwiched between a barrel of apples and a crate of unshucked corn. “I think it’d be easy to mistake him for a woman at distance.”

Trevor sees a slight curl to the dhampir’s lips, his bright eyes coming to narrow at the hunter. Still, he makes no challenge of it, his response levelled and his head turning away dismissively, “Your wit is as dry as your creativity, Belmont.”

Both Sypha and Alucard go silent, to which their other companion shares a skeptical smile with himself. When it’s clear that he can't wring anything else out of them, Trevor’s eyes flit back and forth between the unwilling duo, scoffing gently at their suddenly sour expressions, “You two really know how to take a joke.”

“You are a joke,” Sypha mumbles quietly, her knees drawing up to her chest. Her honey blonde hair falls over her eyes as she leans forward to rest her arms over her knees, and she jerks her head away quickly to knock the strands out of her vision.

There’s a barely audible noise, a soft huff of breath to his left, and Trevor turns to see Alucard fighting down the barest of smiles, “Oh, so you found that funny? I see how it is, now.”

“Everything is a lot more entertaining, when it’s done at your expense.” Trevor pours a look of scrutiny in Alucard, his brows flattening into a stark expression. “Of course, you would know very much about how that feels, correct?”

Despite himself, Trevor kicks a foot out and lets his weight fall back against a crate, ignoring how its sharp edges dig into his back. His arms come to cross over his chest, a mirror of Alucard’s own posture, but it's obvious that he doesn't appreciate the double team. “You guys are no fun.”

Sypha exchanges a triumphant smile with Alucard, who ducks his head into the high collar of his coat. His eyes come to close, but the shift of his cheek tells her that he’s smiling as well. Trevor remains defiantly quiet, giving off the notion that he won’t bother himself with them anymore. It’s clear, however, that he’s surrendered. The trio fall into accepted silence, with only the rickety rolls of the carriage’s wheels and the old man’s occasional humming at their ears.

Time passes by slowly, quietly, and Alucard soon comes to notice that both hunter and Speaker have dozed off. Sypha rests her upper body on a spilling sack of grain, her arms curled around her head as a pillow. Trevor remains upright, but his head has dipped significantly, his body slouching down the crate behind him as the fur of his cape threatens to engulf his face.

Alucard lets his eyes linger on them for a while, the passing branches casting weak shadows over the canopy, and thus painting their faces dark for a moment, only for the light to slip back in. Like this, all the fierceness of their potent personalities is muted, with only the softness of their sleep-tinged faces left to show. Even Trevor, with his sharp jawline and pinpoint expressions, appears to be at total peace in his current state. It's then that the thought passes through Alucard’s mind, like a slow, insidious poison, that they’re suddenly so vulnerable and mortal.

Any number of things could kill them before they reach Targoviste. Sickness, disease, hypothermia, starvation. All things Alucard can’t sympathize with, except for the last one. But even then, he doubts he could die from such a thing, not like they would. Even then, he knows that there’s something inevitable waiting for them at the end of it all, the one thing that will forever separate him from these two humans that are carving out a jagged space in his destiny.

Time. Age. _Death_.

For in the case that they do secure victory, Alucard will only have a short time thereafter to spend with them. Because while a year is long, and a decade seems out of sight for them, they are but an eye’s blink away for Alucard. He will turn away for a moment, and Trevor and Sypha will be no more, just memories that will, no doubt, fade over time. Their faces will be naught but weathered paintings in his memory, with each new year chipping off even more paint.

And while Alucard is certain Trevor will produce heirs if he does survive, they will serve as no replacement for the hunter sitting across from him. Only in name, but not in flesh. It’s all so bittersweet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The inn is fuller than he’s used to, and the tavern even more so. The village they’d been dropped off in is a lucky dot on a map full of tragedies. The townsfolk meander about with an aimless sort of happiness, seemingly detached from the horrors plaguing the country. Trevor’s lips remained down-turned at their blissful ignorance, the charade of merriment registering as borderline offensive to him.

They should be walling up their houses and praying to whatever God they believe in, he thinks. Begging the Church to sanctify their homes and bless their children so that Satan’s evil demons won’t crawl through their windows and rip it all apart. But if Trevor is being brutally honest with himself, perhaps it’s better that they remain this way.

Gresit is a monument to how powerful fear can be. When there’s no one to blame but yourselves, it’s easy to turn the pitchforks and torches towards an easy target. The Speakers were a testament to that. No, these people deserve their happiness, he thinks. Let them drink merrily until the night that their skies turn red. Living in fear is, after all, no way to live at all.

There’s a rift, in every sense of the word, between Trevor and these townsfolk. As Targoviste draws ever closer, the small stone of worry settling into his stomach grows heavier, and heavier, and every night is like a dreadful countdown to something inevitable. Every shared glance with Sypha becomes a little more bitter, because while her face is here today, will it be tomorrow? Will the next image he see of her be a cooling, lifeless corpse strewn on the castle’s ramparts? Or will they even make it that far, considering how blind they are to everything ahead of them?

They could turn away tonight, and leave it all behind, but for how long? Dracula’s army will bleed Wallachia dry, no matter how long it takes. Every corner will be swept clean, and if they were to run, it would only offset the inevitable for a short while. In the end, there will be retribution, whether it be at their hands or Alucard’s bloodthirsty father.

Alucard…

As loathe as the thought is as it crosses his mind, Trevor can’t deny that the small, if not strange amity he’s formed with the dhampir is good. Alucard, despite his cursed heritage and blood-soaked appetite, is _good_. A slave to his family’s desires, the same as Trevor. Even Sypha, a slave to her Speaker’s prophecy. They really have no choice in the matter, do they?

It must look strange to the spying eye, but Trevor laughs at that, the drink in his hand held halfway to his lips. These thoughts are too sobering, and he chalks that up to being _too_ sober. He shouldn’t be delving into the philosophy of his life. He should be curling up under a tree, with the taste of ale and bile on his tongue, while sleep claims him mercifully once more. There should be no Sypha, no Alucard travelling with him, no goddamned castle floating in the sky like a constant reminder of death.

There should have been no Church, no family expulsion, no fire that burned away any semblance Trevor Belmont had of a life. This is not the path Trevor would have chosen, but it’s the one that’s been shoved without thought into his arms. But goddamn, if he could have it any other way…

He’d probably leave tonight, without even a glance to spare over his shoulder.

He brings the tankard to his lips again, or at least tries to. His eyes had closed momentarily, suddenly heavy and stinging with an onsetting bout of exhaustion. But the tankard never meets its destination, and Trevor finds that something seems to be holding it at bay. Bleary, blue eyes blink open to find a pale, almost delicate hand pressing the tankard back by its rim, and Trevor would have assumed it to be an interested bar patron if not for the long, glinting nails that accompanied it.

He follows the length of the arm attached to it, eyes dragging past golden-trimmed cuffs to eventually meet the pensive face of Alucard, who’s probably been standing behind him for an alarming amount of time. Trevor, despite the small annoyance, simpers at the dhampir, and forcefully pulls the tankard away from his hand. “You still need to work on your entrances.”

Alucard retracts his hand, pulls it over Trevor’s shoulder slowly, carefully, as if any brash motion will disturb the hunter and spook him away. “Should you be drinking again?”

“Are you my mother?” He shoulders away from the dhampir, twisting around so that he won’t have to meet Alucard’s condemning eyes. “No, I didn’t think so. If you’ve come to try and steer me on a righteous path, then might I introduce you to my middle finger instead?” As quick as the coy smile had appeared, it's gone in an instant, with only a snarl of disapproval in its place.

The venomous retort doesn’t seem to sink under Alucard’s skin. The man remains maddeningly calm, and for once, Trevor wishes that he could get a proper rise out of him. There’s something volatile stirring under his skin, burning and eating away at any rationality Trevor may have. It may be desperation setting in, or fear, or any combination of both, but he suddenly wants to lash out, feel his fist reverberate from the crack of bones, anything to settle the growing ire.

Alucard seems to sense this, and his next touch manages to ward Trevor’s building hostility in place of earning a startled jump from the hunter. His hands settle gently on Trevor’s shoulders, a barely there press of cool, fleeting fingers that seem almost too afraid to really grip at anything. The skin and muscle underneath tenses, and Trevor feels locked to his seat, with even his breath coming in silent, short gulps of air.

Alucard stands at his full height behind him, pressed to the back of Trevor’s seat in a way that sends the edges of his coat brushing against the hunter’s arms. Though Trevor can’t see it, he can feel the pair of eyes boring down into him, like hot coals sinking through the snow. His hands remain fists on the table, clenched to the point where his knuckles are beginning to ache.

Alucard’s voice comes closer to his ear, quieter, softer, though the demand is obviously there, “Follow me.” He does not move, only waits patiently and with too much physical proximity as Trevor turns the order over and over in his head. When it's clear that he's frozen in conflict, Alucard’s fingers begin to curl in upon his shoulders, and the sharp points of his claws dent the surface of Trevor’s skin through his clothing.

It should be taken as a threat, Trevor thinks, because no vampire - half breed or otherwise - should set their claws upon a Belmont without repercussion. But it doesn't stir anger in his gut. Instead, Trevor feels his pulse jump with something akin to adrenaline, and he's certain in that moment that Alucard must hear it as well. He can feel the throbbing in his wrists, and at the curve of his neck that suddenly seems too exposed, too unprotected.

He pushes away from the table slowly, despite the urgency flooding his veins. Alucard steps away, gives him enough space to maneuver around and face him. Trevor has yet to pay his share for the unfinished tankard, but it goes forgotten in the wake of his nervousness. Several eyes turn to spy on the duo, and surely the other patrons must think they're about to slug it out… which may not be too far from the truth, depending on where this leads.

Instead, they're treated to the sight of Alucard ushering Trevor to the exit, almost politely. It's only when the bartender notices that his drink has been unpaid for that someone calls out, but a quick glance from Alucard has the middle-aged man nearly wilting under his eyes. His voice dies in the back of his throat, and the two make their way from the tavern with no further fuss.

“Let us make our way outside of town.” It's the only hint Alucard gives him in regards to where they're going, but that could constitute almost anywhere, Trevor thinks. The night, while still relatively young, is chilly with a gradual mist rolling in. It leaves the exposed areas of Trevor's skin pricking with gooseflesh. As such, there are also no townsfolk wandering the mudstained road leading out of the establishment. Sypha is probably fast asleep in her rented room, and Trevor’s whereabouts will remain a secret. Honestly, Alucard could be leading him to his death, and no one would be the wiser.

This is foolish, and reckless. Trevor should know better than this. Yet, Alucard has proven time and time again that he is never what the hunter expects him to be. That, and Trevor's curiosity has been piqued. He's interested in seeing where this leads, whether it be violent, or something completely unexpected. Alucard, of course, is full of strangely pleasant surprises.

They step off the beaten path and trudge into the thick canopy of the woods. Trevor stumbles over thick, protruding roots, his steps unsure and wary in the darkness of the night. Alucard suffers no such shortcomings, able to see with complete ease everything ahead of them. He waits patiently for the hunter to catch up, his footsteps coming to a stop near the edge of the trees. Beyond the thick wall of branches, Trevor can almost make out a clearing.

They step through the brush, and indeed it is a clearing, and a beautiful one at that. It's as though the forest had built itself around this one, small area, having caged it in with the towering treetops and tangling bushes. The sky above is bared to Trevor's eyes, devoid of the tattered canopy he'd just been in a moment ago, and the stars are muted behind the cover of dark, billowing clouds. The moon is full, though, and eerie in its seat upon the clouds.

The sound of metal singing sharply as Trevor turning to face Alucard. The dhampir has drawn his blade, long and glinting at his side, and his stance is guarded, familiar. Trevor recognizes the pose, and the memory of their first fight comes rushing back to him in a dizzy flurry of memories. “So you want to fight, huh? Is that what this is all about?” His hand settles upon his whip, and Trevor swears he can feel an ancient, yearning hum in the consecrated weapon.

“Discard your whip and draw your sword. There are a few things you must learn.”

At that, Trevor barks out an incredulous laugh, his head shaking at Alucard in utter disbelief, “Do you think I'm an idiot?”

Still, Alucard doesn't waver in his stance, nor his suggestion. His tone hardens, and there's a brief flash of light in his gold eyes, one that has Trevor pausing and staring him down, “No, I think your ability with a sword is pitiful, and you will die if we walk into my father’s castle with your current skill level.”

“I don't need a bloody fucking sword. I have everything I need right here.” He pats the whip on his belt, and the expression on Alucard's face darkens a bit.

“I see,” It's all the dhampir offers, before his form in vanishing in a blur of red and black shadows, and Trevor feels something stir behind him, but is much too slow to turn in time to face it. Something is yanked free of his belt, and by the time he manages to whirl and track what it was, his eyes meet Alucard, whose hand holds his precious weapon in it. There's the noise of something sizzling, and Trevor spies a sort of steam rising from Alucard’s hand. The shape of vibrant, red whelps form where the whip touches his skin, and he quickly tosses it to the side, rendering Trevor unarmed, except for his short sword.

“That's dirty,” Trevor tries to argue, but Alucard refuses to hear it.

“Do you think my father will offer you a fair duel? For all intents and purposes, he will try to kill you by any means necessary.” Alucard shifts his sword to his left hand, his dominant one, and carefully folds his other behind his back. “Now, enough complaining. Face me, Belmont.”

“This is insane.” It's said more to himself than anything. Trevor is well aware of Alucard’s increasing strength, and to face the dhampir in his own element is a suicidal. “You know it is.”

There's a slight incline to Alucard's head, his eyes studying the hunter from beneath pale lashes. Then, without warning, he’s gliding forward in a blur of inhuman speed, and Trevor barely has enough time to draw his sword and shield the blow. The impact rattles the steel of his weapon, and shakes him to his very core. He can feel both muscle and bone straining under Alucard’s incredible strength, his arm trembling violently under the pressure.

“You'll kill me,” Trevor finds himself blurting out, almost frantically.

“No,” Alucard breathes, showing no signs of straining against Trevor’s blade. “But I will teach you what happens when you're underprepared.” He shoves, hard, and sends Trevor stumbling back, his feet threatening to tip him over. The hunter is barely able to regain his footing before a quick slash of steel sings over his head. Trevor ducks away from the swing, but sees a few strands of his hair float down in front of his face. He realizes that that could have been his head, and swallows past a dry throat.

Alucard recovers quickly and lunges forward, driving the point of his blade towards Trevor’s shoulder. He manages to raise his short sword just enough to deflect the blow upwards, but the blade still grazes his clothing, and leaves a line of thin red in its wake. Trevor sucks in a hissing breath at the contact, and tries to drive his blade forward in retaliation, but Alucard places his hand against the hunter’s shoulder and shoves him forward, all the while dancing around Trevor’s suddenly unbalanced body. He falls forward, into the ankle deep grass, and barely manages to catch himself on his hands and knees.

“Your reaction time is too slow.” Alucard's voice comes from behind the hunter, and Trevor's teeth come to grind against each other, frustration beginning to take root quickly. He yanks himself back up to his feet, and grips his blade with white knuckles.

“Excuse the hell out of me for not being able to keep up with a fucking _vampire_.” He spits the word out while seething, and the look of raw displeasure that passes over Alucard's face briefly soothes Trevor’s wounded pride.

If Alucard is angry, then he shows it with his next lunge, which begins as a straightforward attack, his sword held firmly in front of him. Trevor prepares to dodge to the left, his feet already carrying him in that direction, but Alucard feints alongside of him, and spins with enough velocity to knock Trevor silly when his forearm connects with the hunter’s nose. Trevor’s footing goes flimsy, and he stumbles back a good five feet, his hand flying to the point of his nose while he hisses out a string of curses.

Alucard straightens his stance, his sword swishing elegantly in front of him before it finds its place at his side. He stares down the bridge of his nose at the hunter, whose nose and lips shine red with a few rivulets of blood. He'd busted Trevor’s nose.

It seems to light a fire under Trevor, though, and his hand comes away bloody, his fingers tightened into a painful fist. Alucard can tell that he's ready to finally fight, because the hunter remains uncharacteristically silent, though his sharp blue eyes hold a hundred fiery words in them. Trevor wipes the blood on his sash, and firms his posture, his body drawn tight and ready to pounce.

Alucard spares him a ghost of a smile, “Let's begin.”

Trevor attacks first, and unlike his first few bouts of offense, he is not straightforward, but rather complex in his footing. Alucard finds that his sword strikes faster, and with more finesse than before, but never in the same spot. He’s aggressive, and keeps the dhampir dancing on his feet. The window of reaction time for his attacks grows narrower, and Alucard finds that he must actually focus now to prevent the blade from piercing him. When he hears Trevor's breaths beginning to come short and raspy, he pushes back the attack, and takes advantage of his weathered state, assuming the role of aggressor once more as the hunter deflects his long, thin blade. But he _is_ deflecting them now, despite his growing fatigue, and it's already an improvement from the start.

Their blades meet in a cross against each other, and Alucard takes the opportunity to shove against Trevor once more. Trevor doesn't allow the motion to send him off kilter this time, and purposely jumps back to regain his footing, his chest heaving with deep gulps of breath. “That’s good. Better than before. But you’ve exhausted yourself too early “ Alucard lowers his weapon, and his stance softens, his body coming to face Trevor at an angle. “You can't expend yourself in the first few minutes of battle. Don't allow your opponent to corner you, but don't be afraid to be defensive, either. Study them, if you must, but do not attack them blindly.”

“I don't need you to tell me what I already know.” Trevor grits out between huffs of breath, his shoulders pulling back as if to stretch his arms out. The bitter quip has Alucard raising a thin, pale brow at him, his eyes studying the seething hunter carefully. Trevor’s arm comes to wipe at the still steadily dripping rivulets of blood, and the motion only serves to smear his face with crimson. Alucard watches quietly, rapt with the gesture, his attention faltering briefly at the sight. His lips part, a small showing of white behind them, and for a moment, there seems to be a shadow pass over his gold eyes. Trevor seems to notice, and takes the opportunity to take a few steps forward, narrowing the space between the two of them. His sword lowers, as if to suggest that he's done. “Do you know what I know?” Silence. Alucard doesn't answer, his eyes still lingering on Trevor's blood, enraptured by the sweet sheen of it. “I know that you lot are all the same. Show them this?” He waves his bloodstained hand in front of the dhampir’s face, and notices how those gold eyes follow the movement, like an animal eyeing a hunter’s stock. “And they start to get clumsy.”

He chooses to swipe at that moment, his sword raising quickly and catching Alucard by his shoulder. There's the feel of cloth tearing under his sword, and the tell-tale glide of steel on flesh, before the dhampir is hissing loudly, his hand shooting out to snatch the blade. Trevor moves to yank away, but Alucard is faster in his sudden rage, and he sends both hunter and his weapon sprawling across the clearing in a single heft of his arm.

Trevor finds himself rolling across the grass, his sword flying out of his grip and becoming lost to his eyes. It knocks the wind out of him, and in the moment it takes to fill his lungs with air once more, Alucard is upon him, his now bloodied hand clasping at the hunter’s throat and forcing his head back. In a moment of panic, Trevor's hands flail around his body, searching for something - anything - to use as a weapon. His hand slides over familiar leather, and his heart nearly skips a beat as he recognizes it for what it is: his whip.

Alucard leans forward, his weight a heavy restraint as he straddles Trevor. His teeth are bared, his canines long and glinting in the shadow of his face, and his eyes are wide with such a carnal look, that Trevor actually feels a chill spill down his spine. He seems to be absolutely bristling, his hand trembling in its grip against Trevor’s throat, his claws pricking skin and raising small beads of blood. Behind his crown of pale, billowing hair, the moon frames his head, casting an eclipse over his features. He looks positively ravenous.

Trevor takes the chance to wound the whip around Alucard's neck, and the dhampir freezes in his descent, his face going gaunt with momentary fear. There's a hiss of flesh burning under the consecrated weapon, and Alucard’s vulnerable neck begins to turn red with welts and blisters. The grip on Trevor’s neck lessens, and the hunter has to suppress a desperate breath once he feels Alucard’s hand slip away.

There is nothing but tense silence in that moment, with Alucard still lingering over Trevor, and Trevor's hands pulling the whip taut over his aggressor’s throat. His nose burns with fresh blood, his sinuses screaming with pain, and his heart thuds away quickly in his chest, an erratic chorus of hard beats that seem to shake his whole frame. Alucard has gone completely still, seemingly forming into a statue over Trevor, his face paused in an expression of shock, or perhaps horror. It's as if sudden clarity has washed over him, sobering him to his senses once more.

Then, as if to test the waters, Trevor whispers quietly, “Alucard…?”

There's a moment that passes where he doesn't respond, and Trevor worries that the other man has somehow went catatonic, but then a certain sort of light seems to catch in his vibrant eyes, and Alucard breathes out a silent breath, his face going lax again. “I’m… Forgive me. That was…” The dhampir, for once, seems at a total loss of words. Rightfully so, Trevor thinks. “I did not mean to hurt you to this degree.”

Pale hands are raised in front of his chest, and his eyes zero in on the crimson tips of his nails, where Trevor’s blood shines wetly, fresh in his accidental assault. Still, Trevor’s arms remain locked, his grip on either end of his whip unwavering, even as it becomes apparent that Alucard has calmed down. Adrenaline sings hotly in his blood, his face heating, his breath yet to settle. Then, Alucard’s eyes are squeezing shut, another hiss whistling past his lips as his hands touch at Trevor’s whip, which now barely covers a ring of burns around his neck. “Belmont…” It's an unsaid request, but the discomfort shows clearly on his face, and his eyes stare down at the hunter with a sort of tender desperation in them.

Trevor seems to snap out of it at that, and his hands relax, his fingers losing their grip on his whip as he allows the cord to fall away from Alucard’s throat. The other man clutches at the burn wounds, which now sport thin slivers of blood in their wake, the cord having bit through the dhampir’s skin with the prolonged contact. Alucard rolls off of Trevor, coming to land ungracefully by his side, and his face twists into something pitiful and guilty. Trevor, wordless and suddenly exhausted of both his panic and anger, gazes at him wearily.

“Forgive me…” It's uttered once more, a soft and pathetic shadow of Alucard's usual tone. “I acted brashly, and harmed you needlessly. It will not happen again. I… will understand if you refuse to trust me after this.”

Finally, the tension seems to melt from Trevor's body, and his shoulders fall from their squared state, his eyes closing momentarily as he shakes his head and breathes out on a trembling breath, “No. No, I definitely overstepped my boundaries.” Alucard turns to face him with something akin to disbelief, which spurs Trevor on, “Not that you didn't, either. As a matter of fact, I think this entire idea was really fucking bad. Let's try not to do it again anytime soon, alright?”

Trevor doesn't expect him to argue, and is pleased when all he gets as a reply is a slow, defeated nod. Alucard averts his eyes, almost shamefully, away from Trevor, and shows no signs of moving from his seat on the ground, his posture reflecting that of a man in mourning. It's an unbefitting image, and a strange one at that, to see a person usually so full of confidence and certainty reduced to a shadow of just that. It has the gears in Trevor's mind rolling, trying to piece together what could have made Alucard dissolve into this, because he's unconvinced that it was only his little cheapshot.

“Something’s gotten under your skin.” He moves forward enough to even himself out with Alucard, his knees drawing up just enough for his hands to settle upon them. Alucard spares a crestfallen glance, his eyes flitting briefly to Trevor before staring forward again. “I know you've got more control over your temper than that. Else you would have knocked my arse silly days ago.”

There seems to be hesitation on Alucard’s part, and Trevor leans forward enough to spy a few conflicting emotions passing over the other’s pale face. Eventually, his desire to speak wins out, and Alucard’s words come as a quiet, soft whisper, “I've let my thirst go unchecked for far too long. It's becoming dangerous now, but I thought… perhaps I could hold out a bit longer.”

So it had been true, then. Trevor had always had the slightest suspicion that Alucard was sneaking human blood in between the moments that their group was together, but it seemed as though the man was honest in his promise not to feed properly. He'd been surviving off of measly animal blood for days, then. Despite his morality railing against it, Trevor actually feels quite bad for him. “You never touched a human?”

“No.”

“Why?”

He turns to gaze at Trevor, his face sporting a somber look, and his eyes soft with truth, “Because you told me not to.”

That turns the breath in Trevor's lungs icy. His hand comes to rub at the back of his neck, still sticky with blood that has yet to completely dry. He needs to do something about this, but… God, what can he do, other than the one thing that he desperately doesn't want to? The idea is incomprehensible, appalling, and rightfully so! Trevor feels as though his ancestors would turn over in their graves if they knew what ideas plagued him.

Yet… it was Alucard, who had kept his promise and proved both his trust and usefulness time and time again to him and Sypha. This was the same man who'd ensured that they had food to eat, even if it was barely enough to settle any grown person’s stomach. This was the man who'd probably saved Trevor's life on more than one occasion in their battles with the Nighthorde, and that wasn't even counting Sypha. No. No he needed to do this, if not for the safety and survival of their team, then because it was a decent fucking thing to do for someone who gave so much when nothing was expected.

Besides, he'd taunted him with his blood and been the thing to set him off. It'd be poetic justice to actually let him have it. God, what a horrible thought, though. Trevor can already feel his skin beginning to crawl, and the suggestion feels like poison in the back of his throat.

But he is no coward and no slave to his own fears. Trevor Belmont isn't afraid of death, so he shouldn't fear this, either.

“Take mine, then.” He faintly hears a sharp noise of surprise escape Alucard, and when Trevor turns to meet his eyes, they're wide once more. “I know, right? Absolutely insane. But we can't have you trying to fight, only for a repeat of this to happen. You might have stopped yourself tonight, but what about tomorrow? A week from now?” There's a pause between them, where Trevor's eyes narrow as if to drive home the point. “During the fight with Dracula? You'd be indirectly helping him. Do you want that?”

“No,” Alucard growls, his voice dipping down into a feral tone, unlike anything Trevor has heard from him before. The simple insinuation seems to instill motivation into him, and Alucard shifts so that he's facing Trevor, and his pale hands reach out and curl around the high collar of the hunter’s shirt. He stops there, however, his brows furrowing with a dilemma. “I… I'm not sure-”

“Listen,” Trevor cuts him off, his voice slightly clipped, “I don't know, okay? Just do whatever feels natural, I guess. The less I have to think about it, the better off we’ll both be.”

“You will not hold this against me? I have your explicit permission?”

“I'm hoping we'll never talk about it again. If you mention this in the next ten years, it'll still have been too soon for me. But yeah. Go on and do it. And please God, do not drag this out.” In the back of his mind, Trevor entertains the idea of passing out mid-bite. Anything to help blur the memory of this.

“I won't hurt you.” His voice is soft again, but that's not all. There's something intimate in the promise, and Trevor likens it to a lover reassuring their significant other during a night of passion. The comparison is mortifying, and he has to fight down a wave of mortification at it.

He doesn't move from his seat on the grass, but Alucard draws closer, and his hands stray from their grip on his shirt to splaying gently against his neck. Cold fingers drift over small punctures, where his nails had embedded themselves just minutes earlier, and Trevor feels his skin sting at the sensation. Alucard seems to become so engrossed in his movements that Trevor feels awkward and out of place just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing except for watching him nervously. So he allows his eyes to close, to perhaps ease the burden of what he's about to see and feel, because this is crossing so many boundaries, that Trevor doesn't even know where to begin to list them all.

It only worsens when he feels the dhampir's icy breath gust over his collarbone, where his collar has been tugged to the side to expose his throat. There's the faint sensation of something skimming from the junction of his shoulder, up to right underneath his jaw, and it must be Alucard’s nose, because it certainly isn't his fingers. They're currently slipping into the back of Trevor's hair, gathering up medium-length strands of russet brown hair in between them. He can feel them pulling back, urging him to follow their guidance and expose himself, but he struggles against them for a moment, apprehension getting the best of him. Alucard does not stop his urging, and Trevor eventually gives in and allows him what he wants, but the fear still remains pooled in his gut.

Strange, how all these small movements had deterred him from noticing how the dhampir had sidled up against his body, cold through his clothes and alien in the way his presence felt compared to others. Trevor is no stranger to women, and all the carnal pleasures they can offer, but this is vastly different, and not simply because Alucard is a man. Yet, the common theme still remains, and that theme is that Trevor feels as though he's being courted to a bed. Alucard touches him like a lover would, though his touch carries with it a slew of grim and deadly implications.

He feels a shuddered breath against his neck, a slight pause in movement from the other, and then, a sharp and jarring pain spreading across his skin.

There's a groan of discomfort passing by Trevor's lips, one which quickly gets cut off by a clench of his teeth. His face screws up into a suffering expression, and his hands clench on nothing, balling into tight fists so that he won't shove Alucard away. It's hard to keep himself still, his body screaming with the desire to toss the other man off, to lash out and protect himself, but Trevor holds steady, and suffers through the first few seconds.

And it _is_ only for a few seconds. Trevor is still trying to fathom how anyone could handle something so masochistic, but it quickly becomes apparent how they do. As fast as the searing pain had appeared, it's seemingly melting away, and leaving behind something a hundred times more pleasant in its wake. It's such a quick, sweeping feeling that he fails to fight down the pathetic whimper that worms it's way out of his mouth, and once that noise has left him, it’s as if the floodgates have been opened.

He not so much falls as he's dragged into a fitful bout of ecstasy, and it spreads to every point on Trevor's body, like a debilitating disease. His breaths come in short, ragged gasps, punctuated with small utterances that are more suited for the bedroom than some abandoned clearing in a forest. At some point, his hands had clutched onto Alucard, with one tangling into the dhampir’s long, pale hair, and the other dragging uneven lines down his back.

He must have been falling back, because Alucard's arms shift to wrap around him, enclosing tightly around his back and pulling Trevor flush against his chest. It's here that the other seems to lose all pretense of gentleness, and Trevor feels himself being yanked forward, crushed against Alucard’s body, trapped in his icy embrace and left victim to his thirst. But God, he cannot think about anything right now, can barely register how Alucard's bite grows harder, deeper, except for the way his vision sways and his body sings with absolute, raw pleasure. Alucard does not keep quiet either, and Trevor can hear through the pounding in his ears desperate little noises of satisfaction emanating from the dhampir. His need is reflected in the way that he mouths and sucks at the deep wound on Trevor's neck, in the way that his nails curl forward and dent his skin with the threat of piercing it once more.

There is blood spilling past the dhampir’s mouth, leaving glistening trails down Trevor's neck, and pooling at his collarbone before seeping into the white of his shirt. Through the mind-numbing haze of his ecstasy, Trevor is barely able to register that his body is growing colder, and the feeling in his fingers and legs seem to be leaving him. Despite the warning signs, the less rational side of him would rather it never stop, would rather lay there, nearly limp in Alucard's arms as he stole his life away, drop by drop. Trevor is no stranger to pleasure, but this is beyond anything he's ever felt or experienced before. He was taught to fear these bites, but he never knew the reason why, other than the fact that it was wrong, immoral.

It's clear now, though, why. It's easy to fight back against pain, but this… This is intoxicating, addicting, and deadly, all rolled into a single act.

But he knows he should stop. He should stop him soon, lest Alucard steal his life, thus rendering their little prophecy and group null and void. So Trevor gathers what little strength he has in his arms and knocks his hands against Alucard's back. His voice is slurred, tainted with pleasure-ridden breaths, but he manages to mumble out nonetheless, “Alucard… Stop… Stop…”

When there's no pause against his neck, Trevor feels the first real slither of fear run down his spine. His hands fist against Alucard’s coat, and he tries to yank at it, do anything to pull the dhampir away from him. All he receives in response is a low growl against his skin, and a threatening curl of Alucard's fingers. A gasp is wrenched from Trevor, and his head is yanked to the side by his hair. It's the first bit of actual pain he's felt since the entire ordeal began, and it's like a cold splash of water, sobering him somewhat to his senses.

“Alucard…!” There's more life to his voice, and Trevor feels a desperate surge of strength in his limbs. He worms a hand in between both his and the dhampir's chest, and shoves at him, trying to free his neck of his teeth. There's a soft gasp at his throat, and Trevor nearly collapses in relief once he feels Alucard's unclamp his mouth. All the feeling seems to rush out of his body in a single gust, and he would have fallen straight into the grass if not for Alucard, who still holds him in that deadly embrace. The numbness plaguing Trevor's body gradually begins to go from pleasant to uncomfortable, and a burning sensation spreads where the flesh of his neck had been torn. His vision swims with blood loss, and his thoughts are a jumbled, nauseous mess in his mind.

Blue eyes wander across his field of vision, lazily, disoriented, but they eventually find Alucard's face. The dhampir's eyes are half-lidded, and circled with a ring of red, which glows ominously in the shadows surrounding them. His skin is somehow flushed, his cheeks baring the smallest hint of red in them. Trevor’s eyes drag down, to where his lips are damp with his blood, and his chin is stained crimson with streams of it. Even now, it drips slowly, small splatters of blood falling down onto Alucard’s clothes.

God, what a foolish suggestion. Foolish, short-sighted, but still one of the strangest, most enjoyable things Trevor has ever felt in his life. A perfect interlude to death, because who on earth is going to fight against something like that? At least, not without a strong will or incentive driving them to do it.

“Some warning would have been good,” Oh hell, his voice is slurred to the point of barely being decipherable.

“I must have frightened you. I'm sorry.” Alucard's voice is thick with blood, and he has to swallow a few times to clear it. “I let myself get carried away.”

Trevor breathes out a sharp, trembling laugh. He's all but forgotten that Alucard had been holding him, up until the point that the other man began easing him back into the grass, detaching their bodies from each other. Trevor stares up into the billowing, black clouds, but has to close his eyes shortly after, his vision swirling and threatening to make him sick to his stomach. “Hey, question,” He finds himself blurting out before any forethought is given. His mouth spreads into a mocking smile, and Trevor has to fight down the urge to laugh again, “Was it at least good?”

That inspires a pause on Alucard's part, who at first seems taken aback by the question. But he eventually allows a ghost of a smile to pass over his red lips, and closes his eyes with a slow nod, “I don't think I'll yet forget the taste of a Belmont’s blood for many years to come. Yes… it was good. Very much so.”

“Hey, that's all that matters. At least I’ve got that going for me.” Now there’s the problem of being stuck on the ground, because Trevor is now acutely aware that his legs aren’t quite working how he wants them to. It feels as if he’s run halfway across Wallachia with no rest in between, and taken a few dozen feet plunges along the way. “I, uh… I can’t move.”

“I see that,” Alucard comments dryly. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and while it takes most of the blood off of his face, it still leaves behind a worrying red stain. “Should I leave you here for the night? I know your pride is an important thing, after all.”

“No, smartass. Help me up.” Trevor raises a shaky hand, and Alucard eyes it for a moment, before taking it in his own and yanking the hunter up to his feet in one swift motion. Trevor hisses in pain, and comes to rub at his shoulder once he’s steady on his feet. Despite the accusatory look, Alucard’s hands still shoot out to hold him steady. “Keep doing things like that, and you’re eventually going to break something.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, then. I sometimes don’t know my own strength. At least, as of late.”

Speaking of strength, Trevor is suddenly aware of what a mess he must be; nose busted, face covered in rivulets of dried and smeared blood, neck positively brimming with the same thing, and his skin having paled to a frightening degree. There was no way they could be seen wandering back into town, but then again, the hour was late. Perhaps they would get lucky. “How far back to town? I can’t remember.”

“A good walk away, but,” Alucard takes a moment to eye the hunter, his eyes - somehow even more vibrant and colorful than before - dragging over his body. “I can get us there much faster. That is, if you’ll allow me to.”

It doesn’t take much to figure out what the suggestion is, though Trevor does feel it stab at his ego. He doesn’t have much room to argue, however, considering how his legs are trembling beneath him at the very moment. There’s a moment of deliberation, and despite his pride screaming otherwise, he eventually does assent, “I don’t want a word of this spoken outside of this forest. You see this?” He motions to the clearing, which somehow seems smaller since he’d first saw it. “What happened here tonight never leaves this place.”

“So you agree?” Alucard asks, and Trevor gives an overdramatic nod, which only serves to worsen his sense of vertigo. “Very well, then.” The dhampir is looping an arm around his back, underneath his shoulders, while the other guide’s Trevor’s arm across his own. He feels a cool hand settle upon his hip, and the extra support is all the incentive Trevor needs to allow his body to sag. His weight falls into Alucard’s arms, his eyes coming to close tiredly against his swimming vision. “Do not try to walk.”

Trevor doesn’t see, but he feels his weight leave the ground effortlessly. He can feel the wind beginning to rush against his face, impossibly fast for any sort of human pace, but what else did he expect? He’s seen Alucard speed time and time again, but he’d never expected to be ferried alongside the man. If it weren’t for his spinning head, he may have even opened to eyes to see what it was like. Opportunities like this didn’t come often, if at all.

As it stands, he finds it nearly impossible to open his eyes now, his body cooling with fatigue and blood loss. He’s suddenly tired, so very tired and comfortable in a way he shouldn’t be. He allows his head to tip over, rest against the dhampir’s shoulder with little regard to how intimate the action is. Sleep… he wants to sleep. Even the pain, which had settled into terrible throbs over his body, is beginning to go mute behind the promise of rest.

Trevor wonders idly if perhaps he should let himself fall unconscious, if it’s dangerous to allow himself fade, but his answer comes in the form of a soothing whisper, sounded by his ear with naught but a gentle press of lips to his temple, “Rest now. We are nearly there.”

He listens.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sypha stirs at the sound of their rented room’s door opening. It’s only a slow swing of the door, but the hinges creak horribly, and the sharp noise has her wrenching up from the bed, the covers strewn halfway over her head. She blinks, groggily, her vision blurry from sleep, but she can make out the pale tresses of Alucard’s hair.

“Alucard?” Her voice is a hoarse croak, her throat dry. As her eyes adjust, she comes to notice the passed out form of Trevor held against the dhampir’s side, and suddenly she’s springing forward in the bed and crawling towards the edge. “Oh no, what happened?”

“A minor altercation. I assure you, he’s fine. Just very fatigued.” He carefully maneuvers Trevor over to the spare bed, and dumps him onto it. Despite being dead to the waking world, Trevor seems to sense where he is, and rolls over, his hands catching the form of a worn pillow and snatching it to himself.

“Is that blood?” Sypha asks, uncertainty tainting her voice. From where she sits, she can see the dark stains spilling over Trevor’s shirt, and furthermore, the dried lines that seem to rake down his face. “Did he pick a fight with someone?”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be a lie.” Alucard sinks down to the foot of the bed, seating himself upon its edge as he peers over his shoulder at the spent hunter. “Return to bed, Lady Sypha. There’s a long road of travels ahead of us tomorrow.”

Sypha’s face is drawn up into a disquieted expression, but she nods, acquiescing all the same. “Tell me, Alucard. How close are we to the end?” It’s hard to ignore the telling stains on his face, and Sypha has to strain not to stare. In the back of her mind, though, she’s slowly beginning to piece together the clues.

“A day or two, I surmise. Are you afraid?” His eyes finally leave Trevor, and they meet Sypha’s own blue orbs. There’s a slight raise to her eyebrows, a telling sign that she’s noticed how much brighter they are.

“No… and yes. I am afraid for our battle, but not for the reasons I should be.” Sypha leans back, and draws the covers back to her chin. In her guts stirs the beginnings of pre-meditated fear, and she draws her knees up to try and chase it away. “I am afraid of one or all of us dying. If I were to die, I would be fine with that. But if I were to somehow live, but know that you or him fell before me, that would be unimaginably painful.”

“A relatable sentiment.” Alucard murmurs, and the sound of his voice, low and soft, is soothing in the darkness of their room. “But I promise that as long as I draw breath, I will see to it that both you and him,” Sypha can barely make out the motion of Alucard turning to gaze at Trevor once more, “survive this.”

“Thank you, Alucard.” She whispers, and her eyes flutter with the promise of sleep. Still, the thought is nagging her, and despite Alucard’s insistence that she not worry, she finds herself asking anyway, “Did you feed from him?”

There is reluctance in Alucard’s voice, and it only comes after a heavy moment of silence. “I have a promise to uphold.”

It’s all the confirmation she needs. Sypha is not offended, nor angry at the truth. She worries of Trevor’s health, and why both men seem to be covered in splotches of blood. But she also knows that she won’t wring anything out of Alucard. If she’s truly curious, then she can ask Trevor in the morning. But for now, she let’s sleep invite her back into a dreamless, merciful rest.

Troubles for another time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

How quickly those last days go. It seems to pass in a blink, and as they draw closer to Targoviste, the sky seems to drain of any color, leaving only grey tones to guide them. When the city’s walls come into sight, the first thing they notice is the line of pikes lining it, with both fresh and old corpses decomposing upon them. Organs lay strewn over each other, like macabre lines of flags in the midsts of a celebration.

The stench of death has Sypha gagging when they near the gate, and even Trevor has to plug his nose at how acrid the smell is. Alucard remains seemingly unaffected, but the grim set of his eyes is a telling sign of how displeased and disgusted he is. True to the rumors, there is not a single soul about. It’s as if both monster and human have abandoned this cursed place, the soil soaked in too much blood for either party to dwell on. Not that any sane soul would try and brave this graveyard of a capital.

The castle does not appear to them at first, at least not until they’ve trudged through the bone-ridden bowels of the city. They come upon a destroyed church, its towering form sporting the largest gathering of pikes. At their feet lies the worn, stained glass that was once housed in its monumental windows. Upon the steps lies a decaying chair, and further ahead, through the doors that have been wrung open, lies a bloodstained cathedral.

The way Alucard tenses upon the sight is not missed by Trevor and Sypha. The former spies his fingers curling into tight fists, his nails biting deeply into the palm of his hand, until thin streams of red are dripping down his pale skin. His teeth come to clench, his fangs bared at the sight in front of him, and fury burns in his eyes, brighter than anything Trevor has ever seen.

“This is where it happened.” Alucard seethes, and his eyes drag up towards the sky, where the clouds seem to gather around something enormous. They move together, a writhing mass of grey and black, seemingly hiding something in their depths. Both hunter and Seeker’s eyes follow to where Alucard stares, and it’s not until all three have gazed upon the clouds that something begins to peek out of them.

Sypha draws her hand to her chest, a soft gasp escaping her, and Trevor draws back his hand, allowing it to settle upon his whip. Alucard, however, remains deathly still, the knowledge of what was approaching them already ingrained in his mind. He knew this demonic structure by heart, could feel its call and beckon in his veins. The resting place of his blood, the housing of his cursed legacy.

This was his father’s castle.

It began to melt through the clouds, the roots of soil and ground clinging to its underside sending dirt flying through the air. The towers began to surface from the coverage, towering ominously high in the sky, and the faint sound of bells tolling could be heard ringing from within. The low buzz of mechanical whirring began to permeate the air, as the castle drifted out into the open, a monument to Wallachia’s pain and suffering.

“I’ll be damned. It’s actually here.” Trevor’s voice is a low, tense murmur. His eyes shift to Alucard, who’s yet to move an inch since the cathedral’s sighting. “So now what? It can’t be this easy, right? No demons? No resistance?”

“No, it won’t be,” Alucard drawls quietly, his eyes unmoving of their spot in the sky. “The most difficult task was not finding my father’s castle. It will be surviving what’s inside.”

“This is where we could die.” Sypha whispers, and her head comes to shake, almost wondrously. “But to stand by idly and sniffle in fear would be a coward’s way out. No, we fight, and whether we live or die, there will be no one who can say that we at least didn’t try.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Trevor exchanges a glance with Alucard, his mouth spreading into a hard-pressed smile while the dhampir regards him with a neutral look. “This is the final stretch, then. Pray to whatever Gods you believe in, and let’s put this candle out.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _“_ _Time takes all, whether you want it to or not.”_

 

The details of their victory are blurry in hindsight, but one definite component remains engraved in the vestiges of Alucard’s mind.

Trevor Belmont had been the one to strike the final blow on his father. While their victory could not have been accomplished if not for the actions of them all, it was the ending necessary to reinstate the Belmont’s status within the Church. As much as Alucard knew Trevor despised the Church’s dogma and its selective ways, he also knew that the survival of his family’s name was dependent on its ability to thrive in Wallachia.

The Belmonts would live on, no longer disgraced and restored to their former glory. If there was ever a time that his father would rise again, there would be someone to stop him, and that was a small comfort in a sea of troubles that Alucard found himself in. For as sweet as their victory is, now he is faced with the tender mortality that all humans must meet.

It didn’t help that his companions had urged him to stay with them, to live with them as if they were family. It didn’t help that now, without purpose and interest in the broken country around him, Alucard felt he was rendered useless. It didn’t help, that while he remained unchanging and static in the sights of the world, both Trevor and Sypha had grown, and married, and formed the beginnings of what would soon be a family.

Alucard, now a stranger to that concept, felt his presence becoming filled more and more with a stinging sort of sadness. He longed for the lulling black of sleep, for the inability to think or ponder on such things. While Sypha was sweet and full of love for him, Trevor’s support was somehow more potent, yet less subtle. As the years passed by, slowly, even for a creature such as himself, Alucard found himself becoming more and more enamored by the thought of the hunter, and his strong bloodline.

It was a poisonous thought to have, especially as Sypha grew round with the promise of child. As the newlywed Belmonts entertained the years ahead of them, Alucard entertained the thought of crawling back into his crypt, and shutting the lid indefinitely. After all, what need would there be for a dhampir with no purpose, other than to prolong the curse of his wretched family’s blood? For as much as he both desired to meet Trevor’s lips and throat with his mouth, there was no justification for such actions, no place among this suddenly growing family for him.

Alucard was a relic, his use expended, his heart empty, his life devoid of a purpose that would serve him any good. Pining for a Belmont was no good. Living in suffering silence was no good. His desires were corrupt, unholy, displaced. He wondered if this is what his father must have felt, so empty without the love of his mother. But then, he decides that the comparison is unfair and undeserving, because Trevor Belmont was never his to begin with. Sypha is strong, her magic formidable, her personality fierce and pure. She will give way to a stronger generation of hunters, and her happiness at Trevor’s side outweighs Alucard’s own selfish aspirations. She is good for him, much better than he could ever hope to be. Alucard loves her as well, platonically, but loves her nonetheless. He only wishes her a good and long life.

It takes months of brooding and turning the decision over in his mind, but as Sypha’s delivery date nears, and the season grows colder, Alucard makes his choice on the matter. The hour is late, and the Belmont house - newly built, and lit with candles that are close to dying - shines like a faint torch in the distance. The wooded area he stands in is dark and grey with the promise of winter, and even through his cold skin, Alucard can feel the chill that bites everything it can touch.

He knows that if he lingers, someone will come to look for him. Perhaps not Sypha, as moving around is becoming more and more a chore because of her size, but rather Trevor. It’s a confrontation that he both craves and desperately wants to avoid, but something keeps Alucard frozen in that spot, his eyes resting on the home that once used to be his. The memories inside, no matter how greyed they become, will stay with him, a haunting reminder of everything he wanted, but could never have.

It’s masochistic, to stand there and punish himself with longing, but hasn’t that always been his way? Alucard has done nothing but observe all his life, and this is just another bitter detail to be stowed away in his memory, a hurtful reminder of a time that was somehow both good and terrible.

He eventually finds himself turning away, his boots feeling like heavy weights. If he can just tear himself away from this place and disappear, he knows he will be alright. The years will sting like an open wound, but over time, it’ll heal. His heart will close up, and the desire will dry out, and become forgotten with age. If he’s lucky, he will never encounter another Belmont, will never open his eyes to the light of day again.

Of course, nothing is ever as simple as he wishes it were. He hears the crunch of dead leaves behind him, and turns slowly to meet Trevor, who’s stepped out from the cover of a towering willow tree. The look on the hunter’s face says it all, and Alucard sighs dejectedly, finding it almost painful to look at him.

Trevor speaks first, thankfully, but Alucard would have preferred if he hadn’t spoken at all. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Could he deny it? Could he lie and go away, leaving both of his companions wondering as to where he went? Would they sit and wait for him, even after Sypha’s delivery, hoping that one day, he would show up again? Would they search for him, desperate to find out whether or not he yet lived, or was slain by some underhanded means?

No. He couldn’t stomach the lie, couldn’t live with himself if he were to leave them that way. So Alucard speaks the truth, and does it with a slight tremble to his voice. “I am.”

There’s a whisper of words underneath Trevor’s breath, and his head turns away, his brows dipping with something akin to distress. Already, Alucard is regretting his wasted opportunity, berating himself for not leaving sooner. This is all much more painful than he anticipated. When Trevor turns back to him, his expression says it all: he’s hurt. “Why, though? Were we not… good enough or something? Are you unhappy?”

He can’t make this about himself, can’t twist the situation to hold Trevor hostage with his feelings. Because he knows that if he were to say yes, it would seal his fate and keep him here. He cannot stay. “I long for sleep, Trevor. I’ve grown weary of wandering about with nothing to do besides talk. Both you and Lady Sypha have a busy amount of years ahead of you. You should focus on that.”

There’s a slight shake to Trevor’s head, his mouth widening into a painful, miserable smile, “You’re not staying for that? You’re going to… just leave in the middle of the night, no words, no goodbye to Sypha?” Another shake of his head. “I don’t understand. I thought we were all having a grand time or something.”

“I was.” Despite his words, he can still see the disbelief on Trevor’s face, the way his brows pinch together and create deep creases between his eyes. He knows his next actions are unwise, knows that it will suck him right back in if he’s not careful, but he allows himself to glide closer to Trevor, closing the large gap between them. “You and Lady Sypha were more than generous to me. I cannot express in words the amount of gratitude I possess. But I’ve grown tired, Belmont. Let me sleep.”

“If I do that,” Trevor’s voice has grown quiet, disheartened, “If I let you leave, I’ll never see you again. I know this.”

At that, Alucard allows his lips to rise into a shadow of a smile, his eyes half-lidded and deceptively content, “Do you think me immune to that same pain?”

“Then stay, Goddamnit!” Trevor finally snaps, and his hands snatch at Alucard’s collar, and drag him forward, stopping just short of their noses touching. He’s seething now, his teeth clenched in a scowl that highlights all the sharp features of his face. Alucard doesn’t resist, let’s his arms hang uselessly by his sides. He doesn’t even offer Trevor a flinch. “Stay, and we’ll find something for you to do. But don’t lock yourself up and throw away the key. Don’t waste yourself like that.”

Alucard’s face remains unchanging, still a mask of composed indifference. But his hand rises, slides onto the curve of Trevor’s shoulder, and works its way past his collar to flatten against his neck, where the faint scars of his teeth still linger from years ago. The action barely earns a castaway glance from Trevor, but he can tell that motion has shaken him.

He lets his eyes linger over his hand, where the scars remain, and the thought crosses Alucard’s mind that he hasn't tasted Trevor's blood since that night in the forest. He'd been given permission to feed whenever necessary, but not once had he asked for or been offered the hunter’s neck. It's a trivial thought, considering the action that Alucard was contemplating.

He knows how scandalous it must be, how immoral he must seem, considering how Trevor's expectant wife rested in the house not even a hundred feet away. But he knows he may never get the chance to try it again, so Alucard presses forward boldly, and lays a kiss upon the hunter's warm lips. He expects nothing in return, save for a possible shove or punch thrown, but he gets neither. Instead, he feels a calloused palm slide over his own, the one laid at Trevor's neck, and the small reciprocation has his cold heart singing with what he feels must be euphoria.

He can’t find it in himself to brave it any further, but it’s enough, Alucard thinks. He doesn't think he’ll forget this moment for decades to come, if not at all. It’ll be a small comfort in his dreams, that he at least managed to procure this from the Belmont. A small consolation, he thinks. Better than nothing at all.

When he tries to part from Trevor, he feels something tangle into the back of his hair and draw him back, almost fervently, and the desperation wrings a soft gasp out of him. Then he’s being kissed, hard and unforgiving, and his head is being jerked to the side, canted enough to allow the slide of lips over his own. It’s a messy, awful thing, and it makes Alucard’s limbs tremble with the desire to wrap about the hunter and never let him go. He gets an innocent taste of Trevor’s mouth, and it’s perhaps more wonderful than his blood, because it lacks the same dark connotation.

And Trevor, try as he might, clings to him, holds him firmly against him as if to suggest that he’ll never let go. Alucard can feel the anguish and panic in the way that he grips at him, in the way that his fingers dig into his clothes and will him to stay put, to stay happy and subservient against him. But Alucard cannot afford him this. He cannot share another moment like this as long as he remains by Trevor’s side. This is a luxury available only to Sypha, and he will not be responsible for taking it away.

So when it becomes clear that Trevor refuses to free him, Alucard does the only thing he can, and he bites down on the other’s bottom lip, spilling blood and earning a startled cry. It’s enough to stumble out of his hold, to retreat with unsteady steps and bloody lips. Trevor’s hand raises to where his lip is punctured, the blood dribbling down his chin weakly. His eyes are a reflection of his shock and sorrow, and it’s damn near physically painful for Alucard to meet them.

He licks his lips, wipes away the essence of the Belmont bloodline - an elixir that seemingly can’t be matched by anyone - and offers him his final parting words, “Thank you.”

If Trevor runs after him, he doesn’t allow himself to hear it. Alucard turns, and disappears into the forest, first as a sprint, but then quickly morphs into his wolf form, and allows his newfound body to carry him far, far away. He runs haggard, without thought, because to think now would spell his doom. He’d turn in an instant, and run willingly back into Trevor’s arms, would pervert his marriage with Sypha to sickening degrees, and he absolutely cannot have that happen.

He runs, and traverses both forests and plains, and powers through both sunrise and sunset, until his limbs feel dead from use and he’s half stumbling towards what he’d been looking for. There, at the apex of a hill lined with rose bushes and iron-wrought fences, lies a crypt he’d built years ago after the battle with his father. He pushes past the creaking iron gate and into the dark structure, and wanders into its confines.

Above him, in the ceiling, lies a hole just big enough to see where the moon lies in the sky. Alucard walks towards the center of the crypt, his hand trailing over a stone sarcophagus, tracing the outlines of roses and thorns that are carved into its surface. He stops when the moonlight hits the crown of his head, and kneels down, enough to rest his arms over the stone and lay his head upon them.

He could not find any trace of his mother’s ashes, but he couldn’t bear the thought of having nothing to remember her by. So he’d labored and arranged for something to be built in her memory, and used the best of what he knew about her to try and make it as authentic as possible. Despite the knowledge that his mother’s remains are lost to him, he feels closest to her here, allows his heart to ache dully as he sifts through his memories of her face.

He feels something sliding down his cheeks, and brushes the palm of his hand against it, only for it to come away stained with red. He hasn’t allowed himself to cry in so long, that it almost feels wrong, reprehensible. But Alucard still weeps softly, sends droplets of his own blood splattering onto her sarcophagus. He fears that if he lets his emotions fester, he might lose sight of himself.

When the sky above begins to bleed pink with the approaching sunset, he rises from his spot on the stone floor, and circles around the sarcophagus to the other side of the room, where a black, gold-trimmed coffin lays hidden in the shadows. Alucard allows himself a moment to breathe, to trace the smooth varnish of his soon to be resting place. He tries not to dwell on his thoughts, but rather tries to clear his mind of any at all.

When he feels somewhat at peace with himself, he shucks off his cloak and coat, and folds them neatly, placing them at the foot of his coffin. His longsword is detached from his belt, and he lays it along the wall of his coffin, where it will be guarded with his body. The climb in feels like a dream, like he almost has no control over himself. He’s a spectator, watching from afar, content with his fate, though ultimately still heartbroken over the circumstances.

When the lid shuts, he allows the darkness to lull him into a deep slumber, and says a final goodbye to the waking world.

…

…

...

  
Three-hundred years later, he’s awoken to his father’s castle once more, and the face of the man he meets within its walls is too much like _his_ , and Alucard feels a pang of longing shoot through him, renewed and as fresh as the day he’d left it all behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry! But I kind of wanted to keep with the canon to a certain degree, and this was the only way I could see that happening. I apologize if it wasn't the ending that everyone anticipated, but I hope you'll understand where I'm coming from. (Also, that Alucard/Richter implication at the end is a guilty pleasure, please don't judge me.)


End file.
